Best Feller Poems
Remember the story
of Billy Goats Gruff?
The troll under the bridge,
and all of that stuff?
If you liked that old story
it's all good and well,
but it isn't at all
the troll tale I will tell.
Now, Trolius Troll
was a timorous soul;
A more timid troll
you never shall see.
He lived in a hole
in the base of the bole,
(that is, the trunk)
of a turpentine tree.
Young Trolius Troll,
I ask you to note,
is a strict vegetarian;
he does not eat goat.
You might not believe me,
but, begging your pardon,
he eats only produce
from his vegetable garden.
One day, after harvesting
some of his crop,
with a basket of turnips,
with some carrots on top,
he strode up the path,
just as proud as could be,
toward his home in the trunk
of the turpentine tree.
Then, outside the door
of his pine tree abode,
was a sight that made
Trolius Troll drop his load.
There, with a chainsaw
and a double-bit ax,
stood a brawny, black bearded,
blue eyed lumberjack.
With his feet wide apart
on the green, grassy ground,
the lumberjack looked
the troll's tree up and down--
Then, laying the ax
on a moist, mossy bank,
he gave the saw's start rope
a sudden, sharp yank.
With a white puff of smoke
and an ear splitting sound,
the saw shattered the silence
for acres around.
The lumberjack stepped
to the tree's sturdy base
with a smile of delight
on his black-bearded face.
Then, the usually timorous
troll gave a shout,
and, pounding his chest,
he went leaping about.
With a wild snarl of rage
and a blood chilling wail,
the once timid Trolius
charged up the trail.
The brave lumberjack
was stricken with awe.
He turned from the tree,
and dropped the chain saw.
Through the ferns and the bushes
the tree feller ran.
and he never returned
to the forest again.
And so ends a story,
that some might find droll,
of a timid and timorous
tree dwelling troll.
But its message is clear,
it’s as clear as can be:
You may monkey about with Trolius, friend,
but you’d better not mess with his tree.
In 1890, cowboy Bob Womack found gold at the base of lofty Pikes Peak!
In short order a ramshackle town was founded called Cripple Creek.
Hordes of gamblers, 'soiled doves' and prospectors hopin' to make a buck,
Heeded the call of 'Pikes Peak Or Bust' and fled west to try their luck!
This 'peaked' the interest of a young Hoosier feller named Oliver Pence,
Who ordered a shovel from the Sears Roebuck Catalog for eighty-seven cents.
(He called Cripple Creek, Cripple 'Crick' since that's how Hoosiers speak!)
He strapped the shovel to Fred his mule and headed west his fortune to seek!
Oliver staked his claims and his shovel left many a diggin' 'long the way.
His shafts and holes in the hills and vales can be seen to this very day!
He'd found a few nuggets and a bit of dust but didn't 'mount to much.
What he did find he'd blowed on gamblin', whiskey, wimmen and such!
Often, he'd lean on his trusty shovel and muse 'bout his fate.
He talked to the shovel, sayin, "We ain't had much luck as of late.
We'll winter in the cabin and come spring we'll continue our quest;
I'll strap you on old Fred and we'll head fer them hills to the west!"
Seasons came and went and Oliver wasn't seen 'bout town much anymore.
On a cold and dreary day, friends found him stiff dead on the hovel floor!
They dug his grave with the shovel and buried him outside the cabin door.
Six feet down the old shovel struck gold - the lode he'd been a-lookin' for!
visitin me aunty Cushla
For the first time in Ballybay
I found meself beside a signpost
An I stopped to find me way.
It was then I spied a little feller
Laid behind a bale of hay
He was prepared to help me
but wanted to know what I was prepared to pay.
Well I couldn't believe what I was hearin
He's a tight fisted scallywag
but he wouldn't listen to reason
and jangled the coins in his money bag.
Would ye do that to a feller Irishman ?
I hope yer marry a sour faced old hag
He said , Why do yer think I'm chargin yer
Shut yer gob an get out yer swag.
He rubbed his hands as I counted me money
Just like Ebenezer Scrooge
Gigglin like an hyena
With his cheeks the colour of rouge.
Twenty pieces of silver
I thought his price was huge
The guys a bloody comedian
an I am to be his stooge.
He stood up from behind the bale
An dressed in so many shades of green
With his funny hat and his little pipe
On his shillelagh he began to lean.
Now where was it yer said yer were goin
Ah Ballybay , Well to prove I'm not too mean
I'm gonna walk there with yer
Aren't I the most generous leprechaun yerv ever seen?
As we walked I told him about me aunty Cushla
an me bein on holiday fer two weeks
He handed me back me money
I'm so dumbfounded I can't speak
Ah to see a leprechaun yer must believe
He said,So yer must forgive me cheek
An its luvvly to see a young Irish lad
Who didn't treat me like a freak.
Well Shamus an me became buddies
Fer the duration of me stay
Downin pints an eatin colcannon
an dancin in the Irish way
He could really play a fiddle
An no more did I have to pay
I loved me visit to see aunty Cushla
On me first trip to Ballybay.
There was an elusive little guy often espied during World War Two,
And who he was and whence he came no one ever really knew!
He was a bald headed little feller with a very prominent nose,
And he always left the message "Kilroy Was Here" in very stilted prose!
You seldom saw his eyes and his hands were clinging to a wall.
Many G.I.s saw him in latrine stalls and in their greasy dining hall!
His origin and parting message are debated to this very day,
And no one has ever nabbed the graffiti artists who always slunk away!
He was portrayed in cruisers, battleships and even on submarines!
Kilroy's portrait was tattooed on the chests of a few diehard Marines!
'Tis said Hitler saw "Kilroy Was Here" and wondered what it meant,
Thinking it a secret code when found on American accouterment!
Kilroy became as famous as the mysterious smile on the Mona Lisa.
(I even saw his mug when I climbed to the top of the Tower of Pisa!)
Rosie the Riveter may have been guilty, if the truth were told,
Of tracing Kilroy's image on bombers, including the bomb bay hold!
Well, 'tis for sure we couldn't have won the war without the little guy!
Kilroy's antics lifted morale at home and overseas, that you can't deny!
But you haven't seen the last of him, for he is forever etched in history,
On the World War Two Monument in DC - how he got there is a mystery!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
For those a tad younger who may have never heard of Kilroy, go to your search
and type in "Kilroy Was Here" and click the Wikipedia notation and you will learn
more than you ever wanted to know about him!
I was strolling through Evergreen Cemetery the other day,
Glancing at epitaphs etched upon various stones along the way.
Some flowing verse was out of this world but I can only assume,
That the authors were forthcoming in how they met their doom!
"Should an inconsiderate bird upon my stone alight,
Please do me a favor and remove the blight!"
"Here reposes a dude who tried to rob a lady teller,
But she was a keener shot than this unlucky feller!"
"Here sleeps ace pilot Captain Cletus Cole;
His wings were clipped attempting a barrel roll!"
"Here reclines butcher Clyde who cheated on his wife.
Unknown to him she was also adept at wielding a butcher knife!"
"Here lies Hank his mortal shell riddled with lead.
He was nabbed rustlin' steers and the sheriff shot him dead!"
"Here is deposited the corpus of Eddie a top-notch baker.
He is now serving assorted donuts to his beloved Maker!"
"Please relay your regards as by this way you pass,
But for heavens sake, keep off the cottin' pickin' grass!"
"On a banana peel the dear departed slipped and fell.
We pray he landed in paradise and not in hell!"
"He didn't know his Volkswagen had all that power.
He met his doom head-on doing 90 miles per hour!"
"Fer nigh on 40 years old Hank rode this earthly range;
Now he rides in that final roundup on that heavenly grange!"
"Gambler Jim has left very few friends behind to grieve;
He was caught with a couple of aces up his sleeve!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
As thephilosopher readies for his p soup anniversary
Remembering he found this place last Christmas Day
Surely the best gift he did receive
Now for some holiday fun, DON”T LEAVE
Denise Narayadu I can't end the line with her name
To mispronounce it with a bad rhyme would be a shame
Her writing has very much intrigued me
In her poems often it's myself that I see
Of Anne Lise Andressen what can I toast
She's in a contest of which Debbi G is the host
Of who Santa Clause is her knowledge has a lack
If she asked I could easily have told her it's Jack
I mean look at Jack, white beard, hair a jolly feller
If my put my original line here, I'd be locked in a cellar
Any American could mistake Canada for the north pole
It's cold, I've never been there and at times there's a lot of snow
Jack Ellison in his Santa role this time of year
Oh from the straight and narrow often does he veer
Constant approval from the p soup ladies, I know he smiles
If I was Santa his naughty list would stretch for miles
Andrea D secretly a hater of the Villanelle
That’s atrocious what’s my basis you say
She hosted a contest and a thousand forms she will allow
BUT a max of 12 lines leaves me saying CHINGADO
PD, the SWEETEST poet destroyer she told me
A philosopher asks how sweet a destroyer can be
The poet in me reads her work with much confusion
The imagery addicting but my understanding a delusion
Becca Lucas the girl who lost her muse
If she had schizophrenia she may have several to lose
However several other problems this would pose
If one of them was mean I may be a victim of her prose
FJ Thomas gave me the wonderful gift of the Fibonacci
She might deserve a song but my muse isn’t Liberace
She wrote the Art of Being Broken, a deep piece but not long
Did some guy really leave a comment quoting a poison song
And finally I will close with Richard Lamoureux
If you haven’t seen his clerihew read it TODAY
Quiet humorous, he pokes fun with affection
His first clerihew was a work of perfection
Yes on a few new names Wayland did call
Unfortunately he still hasn’t got to them all
Some he intentionally won’t mention
It’s Christmas Eve and he seeks no dissention
A feller went to the doctor's office 'cause he wasn't feelin' well.
The doctor said, "You ain't lookin' all that swell, this I can tell!"
He had a banana stuck in his right ear and a celery stalk in his left!
From his nose dangled a pair of carrots thus leavin' him quite bereft!
The doc without further examination relieved him from his plight,
Sayin', "You gotta change yer eatin' habits! You're not eatin' right!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I live in Tucson, in a trailer court on the South side
All Mexican, except for me the old Gringo
I speak Spanish, can get along with most anyone
With all the Mexican border drugs, things can get wild
I am getting old and taking things slow
Was sort of a paradise in the Arizona Sun
The owner has lights, security cameras, claims to be drug free
Even claims to be a heavy duty born again
Not like us old folks and sinner on the South
After a couple of years of watching, seemed counterfeit to me
Said by him last weekend, "This land is blessed, sin cannot get in"
He is one of those feller, born with a silver spoon in his mouth
There has been a murder conspiracy after me for years
By the Old Witch and the Mexican Mafia that continues
Severel months back I could feel a change in the atmosphere
It was the old witch had moved in, with her bucket of fears
Trying to scare me and make me sing the blues
Make me think that my end was near
But then last weekend I saw it all, a crystal ball view
The owner lives in California, was in town
Fell on hard times and the park is empty
Went to the witch and money people, "Anything that is what I will do"
But soon the Devil will let him down
Only to add to his up coming misery
He sold his soul to the Devil, just for a little gain
And maybe when it all comes down, will end this conspiracy
A long story made short, to the court I will report
Set me free, for him will be eternal pain
For a man that sold his soul, God can give no mercy
There are no troops in his fort
Tried to take my last dime, leave me down and out
But I knew that God would not let me fail
I can over come this evil pair
With God, the Devil cannot run me out
You see if have sort of left a "Paper Trail"
"Joe you have sold your soul, you don't even have a prayer"
Those BURMA SHAVE signs used to give us kids something to do,
As down the highways and byways in our 1935 Dodge we flew!
The chef-d'oeuvre from the quills of very creative poets flowed,
Nailed to fence posts for our cultural enlightenment along the road!
Take note of this sign young reader as you pass this way!
In just a little while you too will be hoary and gray!
And like your Pa with steady hand be true and brave,
As you wield that straight razor usin' BURMA SHAVE!
She told her beau, "You remind me of a thug,
With that scraggly stubble sproutin' on yer mug!
If its my hugs and kisses that you crave,
Best ya start usin' BURMA SHAVE!"
The feller tried over and over to get a job,
But potential bosses thought him a slob!
Never apply for work looking like a knave!
Use gobs of BURMA SHAVE when you shave!
With her feller Mabel had a beef.
Claude's stubble caused her grief!
Said she, "Yer wreckin' our romance!
Ever thought of usin' BURMA SHAVE by chance?"
If on your mug you are well endowed
With stubble of which you're not proud
In the mornin' after yer kisser you scrub,
Liberally slather with BURMA SHAVE, old Bub!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
A feller I met with a twinkle in his eye
Quite the enigma you see.
Said, "I ain't got no dough... not a single penny!"
Said he, "ain't got no cash... not a single plug for a cup o' tea."
"Couldn't buy you no drink / not even a dime's worth of time
Wouldn't dare ask you for no drink in my silly whine."
"Never saw nothin' finer... not a sight to behold
Then, your fancy top hat... not plated with gold.
In this fine conversation... though, I confess,
I don't know nothin' much... not more or less."
"Don't know nothin' much 'bout music... not a single note
But begged the whole bar not to leave me croak
In this sea of confusion... though- I confess
I ain't got no answers, not more or less."
Confused, I just stared / mouth agape and wide
"So are you broke or not?" I finally couldn't hide.
He winked / then chuckled / a sly knowing grin
"Don't you fret none... my friend / I ain't never givin' in!"
"Never learned nothin' clever / that ain't no surprise
But I sure ain't unhappy, not with tears in my eyes!"
A poet / a pauper / a prince; his stories spun gold
Ain't nothin' like his tales / never gettin' old.
We made a bond that don't nobody understand
A friendship ain't never been seen in no other land.
He watched her walk away that day
The tears ran down his nose
Her walk was frisky from behind
She knew just how to pose
He recalled those soft summer nights
When they would ride 'til dawn
He'd rub her shoulders gently then
'Til all the ache was gone
Then they'd stand high on mountain tops
While she would breathe the air
They'd watch the world as it rolled by
Without a single care
Then hard times came and raised their head
He was forced to sell her
He was a horse breeder, that's all -
Not a wealthy feller
May 13, 2016, for contest Make Their Jaws Drop
I must admit that I ain't very handy with hammer and nails,
And am hopelessly at sea when figurin' technical details.
As to fixin' things with fancy tools, I haven't a clue,
But I'm a whiz at usin' duct tape, balin' wire and super glue!
Tho' it's somewhat unwieldly and it sure ain't too ornate,
Balin' wire can be used in an emergency as hinges for a gate!
'Tis perfect for securin' the droopin' bumper on my automobile,
And for supportin' the saggin' muffler, balin' wire is ideal!
No doubt you'll bond at least two fingers together, 'tis true,
But, Oh! The myriad of things to be fixed with super glue!
'Tis good for repairin' artificial teeth when in a pinch,
And for mendin' broken shards and earrings, 'tis a cinch!
How can we ever thank the feller who invented duct tape enough!
It holds the universe together! Life without it would be tough!
It'll patch anything, gag a spouse, keep a man's toupee in place;
Why! It was even used to repair Apollo 13 in outer space!
With these marvels of the modern age I can tackle any situation,
Fixin' things with simple application and heady innovation.
Why should I be thwarted usin' nails, screws, staples and such,
When duct tape, super glue and balin' wire are my sturdy crutch!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
I saw a feller today with a sign readin', 'WORLD ENDS TOMORROW!"
Lord! Have mercy! That's all I need - more troubles to borrow!
I called the preacher who knows all about celestial things,
But he had no such revelation (usually borne by angelic wings)!
But I'm a cautious feller who likes to plan things well in advance,
So ere my eternal bourne begins, I'd rather not take a chance!
With so few hours left I'll tie up some loose odds and ends,
And for my many past indiscretions, I'll try to make amends!
In my youth I smoked corn silk cigarettes behind the barn.
Many vile oaths have crossed my tongue beyond a casual 'darn'!
I sassed my Ma and more than once her sage advice ignored.
Do You reckon You could overlook my feckless youth, dear Lord?
I reckon 'tis a little late to see things finished that I've begun.
Life is so very fleet I fear I've left too many things undone.
But thanks to that feller's warnin' I'm ready to face my fate.
But, Lord, could the whole thing be postponed if it ain't too late?
This ominous event will settle my dilemma regarding predestination.
But hold on! From whence did that feller get his revelation?
Shucks! I bet he's one of them false prophets the Bible talks about!
Fiddle faddle! Tomorrow I'm gonna go fishin' to cast about for trout!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
The word of discovery of gold in '49 in Californy raced across the nation!
Why, it was said you could fill a bushel basket full with little botheration!
This appealed to a young feller in Boston town named Clancy Wiggins,
Who forthwith trailed the sun west to help himself to his share of diggin's!
In them days to make the trek you had a choice of travelin' by land or sea.
He chose the sea carin' not a whit for wagon trains or tanglin' with Cherokee!
Clancy left his mom and dad, Spike his dog and Sarah Jane his fiancee,
Fixin' to strike it rich, return safe and sound to marry-up with her one day!
In March of '49 he boarded the ship Barnacle and sailed from the Boston quay.
'Twas cold and icy, the sea was rough, he was sea-sick, not a cheerful day.
They tacked to and fro and three months later transited perilous Cape Horn!
Four months later they reached San Francisco, both man and ship badly worn!
Clancy bounded off the ship anxious to head fer them thar hills and streams.
He bought the necessaries needed to accomplish his far-fetched dreams.
Includin' shovels, boots, jeans and grub as well as a sassy mule named Fred,
Plus pots and pans and a tent to 'batch' in to lower costs and overhead.
Fer nigh on a year he panned, dug and sluiced searchin' fer that pot of gold,
Sufferin' claim jumpers, cheatin' partners, floods, rain, snow and cold!
Now and then he'd pan some dust or a nugget, but didn't amount to much;
What he found he quickly blew on gamblin' whiskey, wimmin and such!
His venture didn't 'pan out' like them lying Californy hucksters said it might.
He sold Fred and his belongin's since his future as a miner didn't look bright.
Clancy left Boston with 21 bucks and left Californy with 18 bucks in his jeans.
It might be said that he didn't arrive back in Boston as a man of means!
'Shorty', they called him from the very first grade in school.
He was seldom chosen for any game as a general rule.
He'd reached his maximum height of five feet six as a teen.
Though small in stature, athletic prowess lay dormant, yet unseen!
He tried out for baseball, football, even the basketball team.
Just to be a member of a team was his fervent dream.
Apprehensive coaches agreed to give the eager lad a chance.
Perhaps he could warm the bench - his ego it might enhance!
He was the third-string running back on the football team.
During the championship game the others ran out of steam
The score was tied - ten seconds remained upon the the clock.
He scored the winning touchdown! That day 'Shorty' became a jock!
The state final basketball game is still talked about today.
All the star players fouled out, much to the coach's dismay!
The score was tied - 'Shorty' was sent in with seconds to go.
He was fouled but with steady nerve, his was the winning throw!
He gave his all when called upon and was accustomed to the jeers,
But accolades were showered upon him by his coaches, fans and peers!
His coaches learned that 'tis best never to judge a feller by his size!
He might just be the winner who brings home the coveted prize!