Best Flesh Out Poems
Excise Exercise 1.
Today is the Day she prints out her poems-
a careful first time collation of black and white,
and every color to be seen, in between.
Her Heart clings to words of lost love. And hope.
Which scores are true keepers of internal Self?
In your face front page realities?
Or surreal back page fantasies?
Lies and faith in truth flesh out
skeletal details of a Homeless Heart
living below life on bye-bye ways. And high hi ways.
Out in the open. Vulnerable. Exposed.
Free to go. Free to disappear.
Free to reappear in any frame of mind
between cover, uncover, and undercover.
Finally getting lost...
To be fully found out.
Aqua Marine Pen Umbra Poetry.
26 January, 2024.
I had been working on the concept of "Penumbra" Poetry for a while. Penumbra is a term used to describe the coulour that blends light and shadow to give dimension. Human behavior is often judged "black and white", without adding discernment to deepen understanding. I deeply value those who express deep discernment, fellow feeling, and an acknowledgment of uniqueness, expressed in the creative Poetic minds, old and new, who come here. Thank you to those who read my poems. It is enough to be "seen and heard."
With Faith, Hope, Love. (And the greatest of these is Love.)
Once upon a time I could change the oil and give the car a lube,
Tune the timing, change the plugs and patch an inner tube.
In days of yore I'd do simple jobs beneath the old elm tree.
Nowadays, I daren't twist a wrench without an engineer's degree!
In olden days things were simple to work on beneath the hood.
Stuff crammed under the hoods today is not at all understood!
Why! You must pull the doggone engine to fix a simple leak,
And everything is diagnosed by a smart-alecky computer geek!
Now I can't even locate the spark plugs, I must humbly confess,
And where the life-sustaining battery reposes is anybody's guess!
I must even contact the local garage to get the radiator filled.
'Tis plain to see that all is governed by the national mechanic's guild!
In simpler times the way to detect an errant rod and piston knock,
Was to put a screwdriver to your ear and listen through the block.
Nowadays, technicians lounge about with computers in their paws,
And in a trice can flesh out your automobile's ailing flaws!
Back then, I could replace brake linings and distributor caps,
Change a fan belt or replace a gasket or two perhaps.
But all these fancy gadgets are beyond me - I can't figure them out.
So I'll gnash my teeth and sit beneath the spreading elm and pout!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
On those nights when the ghosts walk around your house,
And a strange child's laughter rings familiar
Even ice cream has no use
Days gone by, instilled in sepia
Flesh out the glow of love long past, real or false
Bright, orange, white, flicker.....
Two black eyes, one dark mouth viewed,
I'm the flame inside
They trim the flesh out
Stubby children's hands; entrails
I'm the flame inside
My face-like windows
My removable roof-top
I'm the flame inside
I WISH I KNOW WHY
A clot of blood into fetus my full form appear,
So unique I know for I have no siblings;
I rip pictures off my wall,
Names of fake dudes out of my list;
I wish I know why, attracting hate even when l'm not
the blame.
A spirit become flesh out of nowhere is my
knowledge;
Nature do explain, but,
Why am I the next trash in God's eyes to be called
great?
I'll write to you of medieval ages,
Foreign lands,knights and of many sages.
Medieval verse,and versification
With ancient meter I shall imitate,
To flesh out this age's animation.
And stories fictional and real I'll tell.
The souls of sundry virtues and vices
I shall show to men of all kinds of eyes,
So that I their souls might excite to life.
Who truly is alive without his senses,
yet many minds live with mental fences.
The Gods were chased away from this bright land,
And many countries were drowned in darkness.
Art was unpainted,clogged up fairy wells.
Unlearning became the new science of man
And music deemed to be of Satan birthed
For its mirth, and carnal rhythmic pleasures.
Oh of truth this divine art of muses,
Music's mothers, the soul with beauty fuses,
Yet still were libraries burned to ashes,
and with timeless secrets the fool clashes.
Empires undone from within and out,
To be hewn down by hounds to war devout,
Who from savage forests came to devour
The sheep and the pampered puppies of Rome.
The Gods did pity these once great races,
the light torchbearers which the dark faces
with it’s all consuming flames of sheer might
which scorches into ashes scrap and dross,
to fuel its holy energy and fire,
the giver to mankind of life so sought.
KING IN A CORNFIELD
When my effigy was impaled
for all to see
yours, on the other hand found a place to hide
around the outer edges of my grotesque.
And while you laugh at stories of my eccentricities
it affords you the luxury the concealment of your own cracks.
On this crazy treadmill that you build, I flesh out the fantasies, so you can sit in front row bewilderment at this at me your neon-reflected selves.
You said its necessary the blindfolds so in leg shackles
my choreography out on the gang-plank.
As long as you remain with me
on this thin film this frozen lake as long as the
cheers reverberate and I don’t have to come to my senses
to watch from a distance two projected shadows at the end of the cul-de-sac
dancing in sync
as long as I don’t have to see you
as you as you dissecting:
scornful fingers
sifting through
the distended
caricature
of
a
king
in
a
cornfield.
I
To all you wannabe poets,
Here's a word of advice ere you start:
If you want folks to love it,
Keep your ego out of it,
When you write always write from the heart.
II
It's great fun to write haiku and sonnets
About rainbows and gay Easter bonnets,
But if you find them too terse,
You can flesh out your verse,
And festoon it with quatrains and nonets.
III
Poets come, and poets go, and poets coincide.
Some rhyme time and time again, others "free verse" with pride.
But those who let their egos reign
Oft fade and never scribe again.
They succumb to the literary sin of authorcide.
IV
Writing is for me both pain and pleasure,
The time I spend with pad and pen I treasure.
I must confess, though,
Sometimes I stress so,
When syllables I choose to use refuse to measure.
A variation on a theme by Dr. Seuss...
There once was a Grinch who was bad to the bone,
Which was why he always spent Christmas alone,
But one year the Grinch said, "Enough is enough!"
And decided to steal everyone's Christmas stuff.
In the village below, in the center of town,
Stood a great Christmas tree with gifts all around.
There were gaily wrapped presents, some large and some small,
Filled with treats and surprises for one and for all.
The Grinch plotted, connived, he schemed, and he hatched.
"Come Christmas morning," he vowed, "all that loot will be snatched."
Then he rushed back inside to flesh out his plan
To disguise himself as that Santa Claus man.
He measured, and cut, and stitched stitches galore,
When he suddenly heard, just outside his front door,
Something that set both his Grinch ears to ringing.
The sound was quite audibly somebody singing.
He opened his door just a crack so to peek,
And what he beheld made the Grinch squeak out "Eek!"
In front of his cave was a sight quite bewilderin'
A small group of seven or eight village childeren.
Then a curly-haired toddler toddled forward an inch
And cooed, rather cutely, "Mewwy Cwissmas, Mistuh Gwinch!"
The snarl that he tried for turned into a grin,
And 'stead of biting their heads off, he invited them in.
He dashed to his fireplace, tossed on a Yule log,
Then served gingerGrinch cookies and sweet green eggnog.
They ate, drank, and sang for an hour or more
Then announced they must leave and bounced out the front door.
As he watched them depart, to his utter surprise,
The Grinch felt his heart trying to double in size.
He quivered, he quaked, his knees started to shake.
"This unGrinchlike behavior has been a mistake!"
Then he slammed shut the door and proclaimed with a sneer,
"Well, you thwarted me this time, but just wait 'til next year!"
This tale has a moral, quite simple yet bold:
Some people can't change, if the sad truth be told.
The Grinch, of his species, was simply a bad 'un,
He couldn't change his spots, poor thing, even if he had 'em.
I lie amongst the rats all curled up
Crying
Tears of anger, helplessness and pain
I lie in wait
The worst is yet to come
I shake uncontrollably
I am helped up, only to be pushed back down
There are eyes all around me, watching me
Jeering and laughing
I am kicked and beaten
The pain is unbearable
Please, help me
I feel a chain across my back
Once, twice, three times
My piercing scream echoes off the walls
Daggers are plunged into me
Ripping my flesh out
Tearing me apart
My bitter tears wash down my blood smeared cheeks
Now I am alone
Slowly bleeding to death
I am weak, barely conscious
All I can do is pray
Pray, the end is near
I turn off damn ringer,
nonetheless...
telephone still buzzes
twenty four seven
eight days a week
automated telephone calls
digitally recorded message
perfectly spoken English
differentiation to distinguish
"FAKE" simulation
all bot impossible
totally immune to escape
gagging hospitable invective
electronic jawboning immunized
against antipathy, cruelty, enemy,
hostility, insecurity, pleasantry
Yukon run to tallest mountain
dive into Mariana Trench
get catapulted into
outer limits of twilight zone,
yet NEVER be free and clear
getting wirelessly zapped
with visual ad audiological
offal dregs and spam
oh... , yes even after life,
while weightlessly
pinwheeling in limbo,
particularly during eternal sleep,
when dead souls repose
six feet deep
or corpse undergoes cremation...
yepper, infiltration into atomic core
blithely battered, jimmied,
cherry lee pitted, tweaked,
worse fate than return of Zombies
electrical essential existential
incorporeal surreal auditory ordeal
spurs indiscriminate human
to relish golden silence
spawning best selling novel
to flesh out fiction
Utopian treasured island story
winning unknown author
instant acclaim and glory
describing village people
livingsocial, free and clear
without annoyingly,
egregiously, infuriatingly,
maddeningly, quaveringly
vexing, nauseating, disrupting
blitzkrieg courtesy aggravating
trumpeting autonomous programs
hijacking brainstorming concentration
thwarting aim tug get back on target
(even when carrying on camping)
sundering coalescence
regarding colonizing black screen
aborted doomed genesis
of brilliant fleeting idea,
thus one smart
generic garden variety
longfellow forced to
grovel along boulevard
of broken dreams.
Any resemblance between above
hyperbole and living persons
purely coincidental!
It is grand when it works which is most of the time,
Man's path both hope and prayer you see,
Most times progress is possible! Look! Here's a rhyme!
If you work at it, you could be me!
It seems faith in the future can help in a jam,
Though you haven't a goal in your brain,
But keep walking, you've legs, be a mensch, not a clam,
Or a flower that's waiting for rain!
If revisions get called for just take them in stride,
Feast on leftovers, why cook all meals,
And those fish caught with stink bait can still save your hide,
Use your giftings, don't reinvent wheels.
Yes, the heart of the future will always be change,
Why not offer up Grace if you wish to help man?
One who thinks he divines what Love is might be strange,
Flesh out all of "God's wisdom" you can!
Long Tooth
April 16, 2018
The precipitous day drools on
yellow and slightly rancid, buttressed in buttery light
by a gray glazed glint from the Pacific.
Vertical skeletons of flesh and concrete bob
with a hallucinatory air,
some freshly coiffed and others surfaced
with the scar tissue of ages.
Halloween gone wild every mid-day,
minds of the plagiarist hordes
flesh-out the canvass with a living art, Pollack would adore.
Grunge sheik cements the souls
dressed radically with sentimental holes
escaped and escaping from
their conventional mold.
I hate robocalls!
Inxs of recorded messages
transmitted automatically
to my telephone number
by automatic dialing device.
I turn off damn ringer,
and disassemble (carefully
as disabling a time bomb)
internal workings nevertheless...
telephone still buzzes
twenty four seven
eight days a week
automated telephone calls
digitally recorded message
perfectly spoken English
differentiation to distinguish
"FAKE" simulation
all bot impossible
totally immune to escape
gagging hospitable invective
electronic jawboning immunized
against antipathy, cruelty, enemy,
hostility, insecurity, pleasantry
Yukon run to tallest mountain
dive into Mariana Trench
get catapulted into
outer limits of twilight zone,
yet NEVER be free and clear
getting wirelessly zapped
with visual ad audiological
offal dregs and spam
(minus the green eggs)
oh... yes even after life,
while weightlessly
pinwheeling in limbo,
particularly during eternal sleep,
when dead souls repose
six feet deep
or corpse undergoes cremation...
yepper, infiltration into atomic core
blithely battered, jimmied,
cherry lee pitted, tweaked,
worse fate than return of Zombies
electrical essential existential
incorporeal surreal auditory ordeal
spurs indiscriminate human
to relish golden silence
spawning best selling novel
to flesh out fiction
Utopian treasured island story
winning unknown author
instant acclaim and glory
describing village people
livingsocial, free and clear
without annoyingly,
egregiously, infuriatingly,
maddeningly, quaveringly
vexing, nauseating, disrupting
blitzkrieg courtesy aggravating
trumpeting autonomous programs
hijacking brainstorming concentration
thwarting aim tug get back on target
(even when carrying on camping)
sundering coalescence
regarding colonizing black screen
aborted doomed genesis
of brilliant fleeting idea,
contributes to conspiracy theory
linkedin with ghost calls
thus one smart
generic garden variety
longfellow forced to
grovel along boulevard
of broken dreams
on a green day.
Any resemblance between above
hyperbole and living person
asked courteously by his name
of the human league,
I police tell the caller
purely coincidental!
1. Avoid Manichaean Concepts and Boxing - making categories - of Human Beings
2. Watch your thoughts intensely, but kindly: judge no one, not even yourself. Enjoy the drama. We are actors anyways (Ask Shakespeare, or Hindu thinkers who flesh out the concept of Maya and "Krishna Lila.") Do STOP obvious evils.
3. ACCEPT: you are no better - or worse - than other human beings.