Best Heedlessly Poems
In life, we often meet with ups and downs.
The unexpected waits to pounce on us.
In the wink of an eye life can take a u turn.
We must solve the conundrum of life all alone.
Tossed and shattered by breakers rushing upon
Sometimes we are ripped apart, torn asunder,
Landing in alien shores, in hostile situations.
The night of weariness may suddenly descend.
The lamp of life may be blotted out by sweeping gales.
Many a time we get shattered in the throes of life.
Life is often loss and pain, facing the unknown
We do not know where our journey takes us.
With masks on, we are destined to play our parts,
Even after the music is over, till the curtain falls.
As we stroll through this maze called life
We never ask ‘whither’ and heedlessly move on!
There are those who heedlessly follow the crowd
There are also a few who singularly continually do not
Some of these do it to be different, while some just are
They dance to their own voice, hear a different drummer
It is not at all easy to be different, it has its price
Some think the journey worth it, others soon capitulate
Now when you are different, if you are a deep thinker
Then sometimes you may even question your own reasoning
For some through life, it is a continual questioning why
Why am I so different, why do I always have to do what I do
Others don’t not give a stuff, they simply do what they want
For some, life makes them different, without even asking
Some different in looks, in circumstance, mind or body
Others so unique, making discoveries conquering the unknown
Some even take their difference and turn them into sheer evil
They take our world and fill it with non- conforming haters
They are people who believe that all must sing to their tune
They want to sway the populace to their ways of non-conformity
And in their non -conformity to the norm, it turns into conformity
Sub-cultures are formed to get away from the traditional values
Goth, Metal head, pieced tongues, shaven heads, and dread hawks
All eventually without even realizing it living in total compliance
The non- conformist therefore has to be a loner not a group culture
To be different is to be true to oneself and stand there out on a limb
This is a hard road to travel, and certainly not one that is easy to tread.
‘Water’ seems a fitting title
of this rhyme on something vital
for the beings we take care of
and the others we’re aware of.
Life on Earth depends on water,
whether human or sea otter,
fish or fowl, whatever creatures
having some subsistence features.
Water may have been existent
in archaic ages distant
long before we tend to think—
even water that we drink.
Yet when in our galactic history
it was formed has been a mystery…
The researchers have debated
as to if it could be stated
that this liquid can be dated
back to when it’s been related
there was a disk of gas and dust
and molecules that were a must
for water that originated
when our ‘system’ was created
(namely, ‘solar’, where we’re fated)…
Or might it be more antiquated?!
Could we trace to outer space
the genesis that took place
of the water in our glass?
If indeed this came to pass,
it would open up new queries,
not to mention E.T. theories…
But that’s within the jurisdiction
of those who compose science fiction.
Many scientists have avowed
that from the Sun’s parental cloud
of interstellar dust and gas,
from which our star derived its mass,
water, well, to be precise,
water in the form of ice
was inherited there and then,
in that olden where and when…
Some astronomers theorize
that what we may not realize
is up to half the H2O
within the oceans that we know
right here on Planet Earth could be,
yes, older than the Sun we see
illuminating from on high,
in daylight’s path across the sky,
our frets and frolics down below,
where heedlessly we come and go…
Water and life go hand in hand,
from briny deep to wooded land.
In the mariner’s rhyming tale,
all the winds at sea did fail,
and the sailors lives were lost—
the idle ship was merely tossed
as if on a painted ocean,
painted ship, devoid of motion.
There was water ‘every where’,
Coleridge says, except that there
was none to quench their parching thirst;
so the voyage seemed doubly cursed.
Water is such precious stuff!
Do we value it enough?
Oh, may there never come a time
(as in that famous rhyming rime)
when as to water here on Earth—
where mortals meet their death and birth—
we too will ever need to think
that there is not a drop to drink!
~ Harley White
Some people do not fall in love
They jump, headfirst, heedlessly
With little thought of where they'll land
Others dip in a toe and then
Either slide in cautiously or
Retreat with great haste, in contempt
Still others trip, most gracelessly
With much unseemly splashing
And left quite without their pride
Often, its some combination
Of the three above here listed
Hapless Hank severed a leg just below the knee,
When usin' a chainsaw heedlessly, you see!
He sued claimin' that it was a defective saw,
And hired an attorney to check the law.
"I've reviewed the statutes and I can't take yer case.
I'd recommend you plead mea culpa to save face."
"If yer case was heard by a judge it would rile his fury,
And I ain't about to bring such a case before a jury!"
"My law firm has determined that yer case is mighty weak.
Sorry, Hank, you ain't got a leg to stand on, so to speak!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
My instinct comes heedlessly and ever leadless
Dances over memory
i smile when i think of the river banks
where we crafted myriads of paper boats
out of unused sheets from our high school notes.
we would watch them float freely yet slowly
they drowned when they could no longer resist
the temptations of the blissful waters.
true. flirtatious wind of wild summers
could make us sway, dance or glide heedlessly
but only a while, cause like paper boats
we had to surrender to the diktats
of circumstances and of willful times.
The reason we must find ourselves
Is because somewhere along the way it was lost
Misplaced on childhood’s dusty shelves
Heedlessly forgotten, carelessly tossed
Countless discarded costumes and masks
Obscure our mind’s authentic hemisphere
Trying on different people is such a task
Never fitting, incessantly sheer
Soon we realize we never changed, we just grew
And we see that all along
We always knew
That our true essence was never too far gone
It is night yet in the West
and the planes land between listlessly burning tarmac lamps
stealthy fingers scurrying through diadems of neons halogens and amber
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
The cowherds’ bare blistered feet already trample yesterday’s dust into mud
and cartwheels strain in crusted fissures where rains fell only once or twice
while dreams fester in cosy centrally-heated silken beds in luxury flats
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Tomorrow is yesteryear’s planned strikes
buses trains taxis office machines lie soundlessly asleep
and will not wake until the battle over psychic comfort comes to an end
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
For You there is no respite no pause
no tea-breaks with cheese biscuits or croissants
there’s only the last container to crane over the dock in unpaid overtime
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Your eyes will hurt in the twilight’s hazy glimmer
no time to brush your teeth nor shave in hot and cold running water
nor the right to flush a toilet nor heedlessly course through in cosy tubes to work
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
The sirens rave through boulevards in broad night-light
rushing hypertensic cardiac cases from their delight-full beds
cholestrol and diabetic cane sugar within reach of every child in supermarkets
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Let those who succeeded their former masters
sip their sweet sweatless porto before the hors-d’oeuvres
and flap their tabliers hiding their secret shame under cabalistic arms
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Wake! there’s little time left for your own bickering differences to fester
the dawn signals the tasks that lie ahead unfinished
and the carrion hunters trained in their old master’s image club together
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
(Continued in Part One - 2)
Once I was sand dab small
urchin of the tides
shrieking with the gulls
on my blanket of sand
and head high as the waves
I was playmate to the sea
One and one were we
under the clouds of foam . . .
Sand crabs tickled my toddles
The conch sang hushabies of the surf
The horses of the sea
whinnied the tunes
of my periwinkle dreams . . . . . .
Who sells cockles for my suckle?
Who can cuddle stars to sleep?
What Sandman rock-a-byes yesternight’s cradle?
All the sun long day
I melted from green to gold
holding the hand of the sea
for only a rainbow long
and gathering handfuls of mist
I was Captain of the tides . . .
Dolphins dipped to my horn
The turrets of my castles
trembled the wind
The shrill of my whistle
shivered the still
of the serpent’s lair . . . . . .
Who can ride the ebbless tide?
Who can borrow wings from the wind?
What Sandman can cool the burn of my yearnings?
Each stolen night and day
I streaming down the shore
danced the fire dance
in the tongues
of the leaping waves
Neptune strong
Colossus high
I strode the shallow deep
Buccaneer of the boundless main
Captain Hook
of my mussel fleet . . .
The peaks of my mountains
scraped the clouds
The crash of my drumbeats
thundered the sky
The sting of the salty spray
blurred my lordly eyes
Hickory Dickory heedlessly
I waded the Gulliver shore
While sands of the hourglass trails
trickled forever by . . . . . .
Who can caress the foam?
Who can touch nevermore?
What Sandman can dry the tears of the sea?
– Harley White
No longer are we isolated,
In this far away country,
With the toy of modern society,
Internet and satellite TV.
A little picture tube,
That brings the world to our shore;
The Universe is at our doorstep,
Knocking at our door;
Bringing crisis and drama,
That we heedlessly consume;
Tonight it's World Recession
Right in our living room;
Isn’t it amazing!
would give Captain Cook a shock
New Holland sure has changed James
Now don’t go off your block
Britannia doesn't rule supreme,
Her powers not worth a cent
The Colony's now a Nation,
With its own Government:
Terrorists, skyscrapers and ATM’s
Drugs, You Tube and modern machines
Don’t worry Royalties intact
The Queens not into jeans
Stop fuming in your grave James!
No need to shout and cuss!
There's talk of a Republic,
So you'll soon be rid of us!
You are hosting the Olympics
So I won’t dig in the knife
You’re going down the gurgler
Streuth you’re in a lot of strife.
Mate we’re the clever country
Even in cricket you failed the test
You’re part of the Common Market
Now James don’t get so distressed
Yes life has changed since Botany Bay
Now James do not work up a sweat
Today we’re all in unison
As we converse on the Internet
‘Rule Britannia” it’s out of date
You no longer rule the waves
And today we’ve come of age
Your Aussie convict slaves.
Today I made my periodic visit to the local antique store.
The place was cluttered with mostly useless stuff galore.
But what attracted me as soon as I walked in the door,
Was a pile of old photographs that people didn't want anymore.
Some from days of yore were very, very amusing,
But viewing all of them provoked in me some melancholy musing.
Those somber and scowling faces peering back at me,
Were once precious members of someone's family tree!
One showed two pretty little girls each holding the other's hand.
Others showed soldiers in uniform looking so handsome and grand.
Many showed someone's beloved old mom and dad.
Some with mama and papa posing stiffly with their little tad.
One intriguing photo showed ladies holding skirts above the knee,
Which was scandalous in Victorian times, I think you will agree!
Another curious one showed a woman behind a horse and plow!
Nowadays, about that, women's lib would surely raise a row!
'Tis regrettable that such precious memories heedlessly cast away,
Now lay upon a cluttered table for sensational display!
It might have been of special worth for ensuing generations,
To cherish those pictures of ancestors who laid family foundations!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Painstakingly across the fallow Walking
From all directions, the villagers coming
Unwavering steps, the hamlet behind forsaking
To the river bank, they all were heading.
The moon, the sky still ruling, lambent
Through the wood they all unusually silent
The senesced, vernal as well as the infant
Heedlessly crunching the fall path oddment
By the stream they stood thoroughly expecting
The faintest breeze down vehemently hushing
For the long lost sound carefully watching
A blossoming bud, verdant spring announcing.
Just before cockcrow, stemmed the flower
The long waited , witching creature
Casting sense hexing myrrh
Over the villagers a refreshing zephyr.
I'm Stella, I was10 years old when I've met Yijing first time.
I never forget that day, a mystery case happened.
To detect the truth, I made my sense sharpened.
But finally, Luna solved it spending almst no time.
The incident was lost of My favorite sweets !!
I cried so much that I couldn't do anythhing more.
Next day, when I was searching clues entire floor,
Luna came to my home, and slowly took her sheets.
She told me she heard this from my mother
And, "I know who did it. My master", she said regretfully
"But your master means,,", I asked her surprisingly.
She asserted flatly,"Yes, your father."
"How did you know that ?", I said this time doubtfully.
"By my skill.", She only replied heedlessly.
Fengleishanren.
He lies a mangled heap of naked shame
dead to nagging worries, thoughts and sorrow
a worn dusty dress clings to his lean marrows
silent he lies in a noisy street with no name
All his lofty dreams and achievements
lie quietly with him in his exposed grave
all his prayers and high hopes none can save
mute the too heap a colossal embarrassment
The joy of an only male child is still
the cheer of giddy success is silent
tears from sobbing hearts are absent
only a crowd of sober vultures at his heels
Curious feet walk briskly away from him
who once lived, loved and sinned like many
who now heedlessly lies without a penny
facing a shy sky who turns away dim
He remains a terrible sight of cold shame
putrid morning, a cynosure of attention
crowds salute hand over nostrils in petition
to our commanding John Doe with no name
A corpse of our national soul lies
dead in the center of our patriotic eyes