Best Coveralls Poems
As I sit upon these old porch steps, that I have always known
A weathered stoop, with gray floorboards, that shake with every wind
These creaks and groans, the flaws and chips, ... familiar to my hand
I have come to some conclusion,,,
I've come to understand,
how well I know each board, each slat, the shape, the size,
the warps, the cracks, ...each rusty nail, ....
but not the facts of you.
Oh yes, ... I've seen a glimpse or two,
in photographs. I have a few
I see a robust man, in yellowed hues, of vintage stock...
By a house, a barn, where land is strewn with stones to move.
You stand behind a horse and plow, in coveralls,... a mustache. too.
I do recall, so vaguely gray, as gray as the paint beneath my hand...
a jolly man, a wrinkled face,
with a smile, a laugh, a loving way
A dream I have, or is it real?
Is that me when I was two,... sitting here, beside you then?
Or is it just my wish to know... more than just a trace of you?
I never knew the man you were, your hopes your dreams...
the thousand schemes that brought you to these rocky slopes
so far from where your hopes began
Where the steep cliffs rose and seas were blue.
Today, beyond these furrowed rows,...
tall grasses grow in amber waves
The eyes will wander, and shadows grow
I ponder how it came to be....
that I am me,....
who came from you;
a man I never knew.
_____________________________________________________________
(To watch the youtube video recitation:)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hF4GCLqf9_o
Walking my tiger home alone
In the background and unknown
With a rag I polish a club
Then you take it with a snub
I walk around keeping stats
Wet my finger for wind on flats
Calculate yards from here to there
So dimpled ball will stay in the air
As fast as you behind I lag
The difference is I carry your bag
All in white in bright coveralls
Marking the spot to place your balls
On the green is usually where
Sometimes you don't I won't go there
Have no problem choosing the club
Throwing it back an uneasy rub
I go the distance for eighteen
Making sure you make the green
Many tournaments you have won
Some are due to the work I've done
Raise the cup enjoy the win
I can take it on the chin
Beside you like some garden gnome
Here I'm walking my Tiger home
You were always happy, always on the move
with a great zest for life and a heart full of love.
We loved you too and checked to see if you’d get mad
if we mimicked your habits, but you laughed instead.
When we were in school together, you often horsed around;
I ribbed you about eye trouble, eyes too close to the ground.
You lived life with gusto, knowing your time was short;
playing hard, working harder, often with a jolly retort.
Honest to a fault, you saw the positive side of things;
kept things in order, solid rock with no mood swings.
Cut off jeans, gray tee shirt, tinted glasses, baseball hat;
great big grin, teasing quip, a big hello, a friendly chat.
You were the best teacher any student ever had;
I could call on you to help as though you were my dad.
You drove my school bus on many a winter morn;
dressed in brown coveralls, bottom legs frayed and worn.
You were there in summer, helping coach baseball games;
at football with your camera or turning cartwheels in the gym.
You taught us how to care, how to study, how to play;
how to work on the computer and make the most of every day.
So determined to learn, spending hours at a throw;
self-teaching all the things a teacher needed to know.
You are the poem of my life, who you were tells the tale;
your poem will last forever, healing memories never pale.
You wrote the words of this poem, pages of my life tell the story;
you will read them back to me, when we meet again in glory.
The lady down the lane
Kept daisies by her windowpane
Clad in sun splashed coveralls
Her hair, a silver waterfall
Proudly she wore her bluebell bonnets
As she composed her floral sonnets
We would smile a shy hello
Her name, I never got to know
Now - dusty silence coats her stair
The bones of color, stripped and bare
Abandoned seedlings, parched segments
So largely felt, those little dents
A 'For Sale' sign sits on the lawn
I guess seasons - and gardens - move on
Yet, sometimes I see, through stained-glass rain
Daises by her windowpane.
3/20/20
For 'The Lady Down the Lane' contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Write a Lament is what they say So I’m going to tell you about the saddest day.
It was summertime with parades in the heat,
Daddy was humming as he climbed in the driver seat.
Mom said you shan’t wear those old coveralls,
Go change you funny man, but daddy wasn’t one to stall
Off they went my daddy and my son,
They had a parade to enter they were on the run.
In an old truck with four ponies aboard,
The cart hitch on as that was all he could afford.
They took the ride into the city
Grandpa joked with the boy, both rather smart and witty.
A time later I followed with the younger son,
It promised to be a day of family and fun.
Until I got close to the Destination,
I saw flashing lights And feel the weight of devastation.
I knew that boy I knew that truck
I jumped out and ran, into an ambulance my head did duck
Yes, it was my daddy who had collapsed and gone down.
While hitching up with horses in this busy town.
I knew that he was gone as I took his hand.
I heard the subs of a boy that now needed to be a man.
“Son can you get this rig on home?”
He was too young to do it alone. Nonetheless, his grandpa had taught him to be strong in the heat.
Because that day my son became a man as he climbed grandpas driver seat.
At 40 below zero in the Vermont country side,
the frost can be actually seen in the air
as sparkling frost dust seemingly defying gravity.
The skin showing between your mittens and sleeves
will be frost bitten in a matter of minutes if not covered.
Gloves just don’t do the job.
Moisture from my breath freezes on my mustache and beard.
Spit is frozen by the time it hits the ground...
Kick it and it shatters into pieces.
Working with any intensity causes the lungs to ache.
The air is crisp and very still. The scenery is crystal clear .
The colors of nature, the sky, trees and chimney smoke rising almost perfectly vertical in the windless valleys are striking and sharp.
Your nostrils begin to stick together. Your forehead hurts at first and your eyes begin to ache when moving from one scene to another for some reason..
Your forehead has stopped hurting so you had better get inside because the skin may be getting frost bit. As you get inside to the warmth of the shack you realize that your lips are splitting and it’s time for the lip balm or they will be bleeding soon.. again. Note not to trim my mustache until Spring. Take off the insulated boots, parker, sweater, coveralls ear flap hat and hood before I start sweating…. Never did get to shovel myself out of the yard. Maybe tomorrow. Stoke up the wood stove, brew up a cup of coffee, sit in the old rocker and listen to the fire crackling.. eating up the wood I’ve split and dried.
Maybe tomorrow it’ll warm up a bit eh, old dog friend of mine? Lay down Country Boy and rest your old bones. We’ll go fetch us some work in town tomorrow if the truck starts. Atta boy … lay down there and we’ll day dream a while about going down to Florida to live next winter. Meanwhile, well meanwhile, ..you know … we’ll just …… listen to the fire…. And ….be warm …....
Love isn't just a single word or feeling
Said to tickle an ear and leave you reeling
Nor is love abstract and void of care
But what one envisions and does all year
We convey our love by things that we do
When a loved one is hurting we hurt too
Love is conveyed by deeds not merely said
And connects us all with a common thread
Love is a word some find difficult to say
But it leaves an enormous price to pay
Love means when one hurts us, we forgive
Not five years later to bring up and relive
Love sometimes forces on us a long wait
But love never delegates us power to dictate
We don't have to agree with each other to love
For God gave me what I was unworthy of
What's held in your heart your mouth will speak
So before speaking do a mental critique
love is never idle or to be cast in mothballs
In short, I see love as a servant in coveralls
From Brother Jay's morning sermon
Happy Valentines day
Scarecrow
You'll find me
in paddy fields and gardens;
even on front porches.
I'm a decoy, as lonely as can be.
I look frozen in time,
mimicking Jesus
crucified on the cross,
but I swear I mean no disrespect,
you religious zealots!
Blame farmers and gardeners!
They make me look this way!
They live to humiliate me;
dressing me up like a ragamuffin,
stuffing straw inside my coveralls,
placing a dumb-looking hat
atop my head; you name it!
Yes, I know I look ridiculous.
I wish I'd put
my perennially outstretched arms down.
Don't be scared of me, kids,
I speak no evil
I don't speak at all,
and I do not harm anything
that breathes air
Yet you humans choose to avoid me
like the plague
but come Halloween,
you all love me for just a day!
Go figure.
Yeah, I see some of you
staring at me, chuckling;
whispering amongst yourselves
about me having no brain
in the "Wizard of Oz" movie.
In my defense,
It was a misrepresentation!
I don't speak, but I'm not that dumb!
I know how to do my thankless job
and do it well.
I scare off all the birds
that peck at newly cast
seeds of growing crops, don't I?
Not so brainless now, am I?
Date written: 05/15/2020
I was relaxin' on the patio the other day, musin' as I often do,
About a few things that brought about vic'try in Dubya Dubya Two.
There were no computers, cell phones, night goggles, drones or such.
How we won the war sans such contrivances, I have wondered much!
One thing that played a vital role was Coca Cola fer GIs their thirst to quench!
Another was Rosie the Riveter in baggy coveralls wieldin' hammer and wrench!
Moms saved grease, tended vic'try gardens and the kids collected scrap,
And workin' overtime makin' planes, tanks and guns was dear old Pap!
Air Raid Wardens prowled about at night raisin' 'ell if they saw a gleam of light.
Plane Watchers strained their orbs so enemy planes would never over-flight.
"Kilroy Was Here!" was our battle cry but no one ever saw that elusive dude!
Glenn Miller kept spirits high playin' "Dawn Patrol" and romantic "In The Mood!"
Mean ol' sergeants yelled and screamed at recruits whippin' 'em into shape!
(Second lieutenants were a nuisance - good fer nuthin' except fer addin' red tape!)
We would never, ever have won the war without the lowly but reliable jeep,
Nor the GI helmet, great fer bathin', boilin' beans or yer joe to steep!
V-mail letters kept loved ones in touch - there was no E-mail way back when!
War Bond Rallies to "Keep 'Em Flying" and "Buy A Jeep" were held now and then.
Folks tightened their belts fer the rationin' of tires, sugar, coffee and meat.
These are just a few things that helped bring about the enemy's utter defeat!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
I donned my best Sunday working coveralls
Plopped the hardhat on my waiting head.
Just another twelve hours of service rendered
To an employer who cares not if im live or dead
Ive seen days and months and years fly by
As I travel horizons far and wide
You become bitter to the loves lost along the way.
But you learn to bury the pain deep inside.
Ive fought with men with hardened hearts
Who poured out their hurts in the fists they threw.
But in the next Port of Call all was forgiven
And you would share an ale or two.
The land dwellers never witness the struggles of this life
Or the burdens of each cross we bear
Or how much we anticipate coming home.
And falling into loving arms that still miss and care.
Ive seen young lads come up the gangway
Thinking they have found an adventurers paradise
And watch their smiles turn to grimmaces
Once the sea steals their soul and life.
Its a job unlike no other
Where your gone for months that just drag on
And when you finally make it home again
You find your feeling like you dont belong.
Deep in the Oklahoma woods
On an oil rig we couldn't foresee
Something not dropped in the snow
Could be disastrous to a degree
A guy I'll call "new guy", came in
He'd done a "Number two" outside
Thankful to get out of the cold but
With an odor not to be denied
Somebody asked,"What's that smell!"
What then ensued was quite an uproar
Ending with new guy shouting, "Oh no!"
And quickly bolting out the door
Here's the moral of the story
I'll tell you what it's all about
When you pull down hooded coveralls
Never leave the hood sticking out!
'...the burnt out end of smoky days' - T.S. Eliot
l
The evening rumbles in
and grumbles, tea is served, the kettle
whistles, bread
is buttered, weary workers settle,
nibble, drink their tea and chatter,
as the platter's
passed around and cakes are proffered
in the cozy parlour, lamp-lit,
rum is offered,
daily bread, and thankful for it.
Curtains closed against the weather,
children say their prayers together,
snug and safe now, sister, brother.
ll
The morning sun prods sleepyheads
to service and to play,
the colliery beckons
and the women make the beds.
The cobbled backstreets glisten
from the rain the night before.
The siren calls
and all the miners listen,
they heed its strident roar
and step into their coveralls.
lll
You take fresh linens from the chest,
it's time to straighten up the nest,
then gargle, and repair your face
to meet the challenges and woes,
you hold your children to your breast
and wonder how by heaven's grace
you'll pay the rent, afford the food,
as praying to the Lord you stand and shiver,
arms and legs are shaking, all a'quiver,
a dreadful vision haunts your eyes,
the poor house, shameful to conceive,
you lie upon the bed and weep,
how will you cope, how will you sleep?
no items left to compromise,
a constant struggle to believe.
lV
He wrestles with his conscience, tried
and troubled, thoughts of fraud and theft
beset him constantly, he's torn,
his sickened heart is worn, bereft.
He looks into the eyes of strangers,
each consumed with his own fears,
distraught, and never satisfied,
into a world of want stillborn,
condemned to worry all these years.
We suffer with these souls who struggle
through a life of toil and grief,
tread-milled with no hope of cheer
or expectation of relief.
Our family got the news today
Our bubba's gettin' hitched
Young Daisy Mae, she's near fourteen
Got our boy bewitched
He's sayin' that he loves her
He's making her his bride
She's the first to get him this close
Though not too many tried
We've got to get things ready
Send invitations and make candles
We've got to get the good jars out
The one's that still have handles
The minister is on alert
We've got to make some shine
Grandpa says he'll make some up
But, it will not all be mine
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
This time there'll be no shotgun
Like the last time for old Ben
This time the guns are empty
Not the way they were back then
The banjos will be tuned up
There'll be music in the air
The cops won't try to stop it
I think most will all be there
The ladies will be planning
Just how to serve up all the grub
While Bubba has to find a suit
And therein lies the rub
He's never worn a suit at all
Not even for a day
He's only dressed in coveralls
And that's how he's gonna stay
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
It'll be a wang dang doodle
A hell of a good time
It'll only be completed
When they run out of the shine
there'll be singing and some dancing
Underneath the harvest moon
We can't wait for it to happen
It cannot come too soon
There'll be readings from the bible
Which the minister will read
And as good holy Christians
Everyone will heed
There's sure to be some fighting
Before the couple say "I do"
I mean, they are both cousins
I'm gonna go...aren't you?
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
As the morning sneaks up,
we will all arise.
And what shall we see,
at first light by day?
Look around and all will be known,
the birds are chirping,
and the sun is shown.
Wake up sleepy head,
open those tired eyes.
A new day has come to greet you,
and teach you something new.
See the clouds that are passing by,
and trees that are waving to say hi.
The grass and the dew,are together as one,
until the morning light of the sun.
Squirrels come out to play hide and seek,
as deer wander to drink from the creek.
The mountains are mystified,
and all that's around.
Creatures of the night,
will not be found.
Feathered friends and fish to swim,
bugs fly by,and songs to be sung.
It's time for spring to be sprung.
All is trying to be green,
and all is calm in the wakening.
An old man sit's on his creaky old porch,
a cigar he smokes,the sun may scorch.
A hat he wears on his pale old head,
a cane by his side,it's the color red.
In coveralls he does wear,
a handkerchief in pocket,
and coffee in hand.
He breathes the air so clean and fresh,
as he let's out a yawn,and then a stretch.
A red bone hound joins his side,
this his friend and his pride.
The sun is warm upon his brow,
he get's up to feed the cow,
the chickens and goats you see.
It's time to work and then to rest.
now the day is falling,
and the moon slowly rises.
Sounds of crickets chirping away,
owls hoot and coyotes prey.
Shadows falling upon the land,
trees covering soil,animals and land.
Water trickling on the rooftop,
we need you rain please don't stop.
See you soon tomorrow my friend,
this is goodnight,and not the end.
Tomorrow will bring a new day in store,
and the day after,and many more.
Sweet dreams sleepy head,
go and rest you old man.
I'll see you and greet you again,
to say once more,good morning old man.
Every day I am leaping higher
Jumping from brown blocks and green pipes.
From the pluck of fire flowers steams this passion that I pursue So adamantly.
Question mark filled boxes highlighted yellow.
Flickering on and off.
The alchemy of white gloves, stomping and flipping the backs of turtles.
Small mushroom men with small feet.
Flying bullets of unusual size.
Large man eating plants.
I no longer fear the height of odd shaped trees, and small collapsing bridges.
What I fear most are the walls of empty castles.
Flying bullets and funny shaped ghost.
Soon to attack soon as I turn my back.
Lava filled pits. Huge block castles.
Torn blue coveralls. Dull and weathered black boots.
The slip of a shoe and everything I know comes to an end.
Still,
I travel land, sea, desert, space.
No matter what adversity,
In search of a princess that I love so adamantly.
No matter how long the journey