Best Hefted Poems
There is happy ado on the old farmstead as Yuletide draws nigh!
Wondrous things to savor as gales blow and snow begins to fly!
The tempest rages for days - they will surely be snowbound,
But a blazing fire warms the Victorian home - love and cheer abound!
Since early in July Pa has had his eye on a special evergreen tree.
It now graces the parlor and they dance about it with glee!
Brightly lit candles adorn branches of the perfectly shape fir.
'Neath lies The Babe - The Magi offering frankincense, gold and myrrh.
The boys have hefted armloads of wood from the oak tree grove,
For Ma and the girls to cook delectable fare on the wood-burning stove.
Titillating aromas waft from room to room in the gracious old house,
From the roasting goose, venison and tender prairie grouse!
Rusty the dog and Simba the cat lie snuggling nigh the fire.
The family gathers 'round the old pump organ for an impromptu choir.
Bellowng off-key, Pa leads them in carols, all ln spirited mirth,
And later by the hearth, Pa reads the story of the Savior's birth.
The ancient grandfather clock tolls ten- the kids are shooed to bed.
Ma and Pa place presents 'neath the tree in old Santa's stead.
With a twinkle in his eyes, Pa steals a kiss 'neath the mistletoe!
The excited kids scarcely snooze listening for Santa's Ho! Ho! Ho!
NOT FOR THE CONTEST
Arrogant autocratic Ahab
Sails set seaward
Heartless harpoon high
Wind wracked Waves
Revenge rage regret
Wretched white whale
Opaque Ocean oblivious
Deep dark dangerous
Titanic terrors traversing
Captain callous cold
Blood bought bonds
Obsidian oaths ordured
Foreboding fears fester
Sacrosanct silent seas
Motionless midst moonset
Dim daylight dawned
Spray shot skyward
Lithe Longboats launched
Barnacled Behemoth Breaching
Heartless harpoons hefted
Destruction death defeat
Ahab alone as Achilles did battle
Poised proud purposeful in battle
Long lance light in hand for battle
White whale welcomes the battle
Dives deep deep to rise to the battle
Man monster meet to do battle
The sea is still, it has no tale to tell
Coach Alan Brown was incredibly unique
At eighty he had an athlete's physique.
A fullback mocked his years,
Brown hefted him by his ears.
Since then mouthy jocks have squelched every squeak.
Just a Woman
She stood in the cold, bitter salt spray
masquerading as tears stinging her cheeks.
North winds had come early, rough seas,
maddened surf, no sight of sails in two weeks.
She stood, leaning into the wind, just a woman.
She stood in the warmth of spring sunshine
hanging clothes on the sagging rope line,
children using her as part of their game,
dog barking at the approach of the mail truck.
She stood, gazing into the empty mailbox, just a woman.
She stood in the midst of dust dry fields
watching a dream carried off on the arid winds
nurtured the essence of their hope
hefted the weight of fates harsh habits.
She stood, hungry and tired, just a woman.
She stood in the lush fields of happiness
smiling on the future of her love,
watching youth grow to man and womanhood
move on toward their ever vague futures.
She stood, teary eyed, waving goodbye, just a woman.
She watched him slow in the achiness of age
eyes dimming in the shadow of tomorrows,
held his hand and walked the narrow corn rows
rekindling the joy of youthful lovers.
She stood, in loving’s dream, just a woman.
John G. Lawless
5/30/2015
2019 Marathon Poetry Contest #4
Brutus Iulius Trois page 02
Where Trojans are there will be Troy
In Hesperia the elder cousins the new Dardanoi
the sons of Silvanus Dardanus shall inherit
and Lavinia's bloodline shall dwindle down
caught by a curse not even Anna Perenna can protect
as the very last drops are given to wolves
Thus purified the Dardanoi become a great nation
As for the house of Ascanius and the true Trojans
Two bright stars that flame and fall
Troy is lost, Trojans are lost
a matricide, a patricide an orphan child
shall escape his curse and rescue Creusa
who cries all alone in Troy's ruins
Where Trojans are there will be Troy
Ascanius did not weep or cry in anger
Ascanius did not try to stop what was to come
doing such things had never helped his father Aeneas
Ascanius placed his faith in older prophecies made
and his trust in the protection of grandmother Venus
with peaceful prayers sent he pleas to the Parcae
Nona spin your finest threads for my son.
Decima give him a full cup of life leave him not wanting
Morta keep your knife idle until after my time.
Ascanius paid the Auger in silver coin
one eyed Merlinius bowed and left
To his soldiers Ascanius said slay me this soothsayer
but the mage Merlinius staged his own suicide
drinking a draft of false death
disappearing some said into the west
Silent stayed Ascanius, keeping secret his son's fate
In time Silvanus Trois inherited his fathers crown
and wedded Julia Dardanus his close cousin
tying the Trojan grafts tighter to their newly Latin roots.
Julia Dardanus died in birthing a beautiful son
she breathed her last even as he breathed his first.
In sorrow Silvanus lifted his son aloft to show the courtiers
as he hefted the babe, he named his heavy burden Brutus.
In true Trojan fashion Ascanius had raised Silvanus his son
In such fashion Silvanus in turn raised Brutus Iulius Trois
There is happy ado on the old farmstead as Yuletide draws nigh.
Wondrous things to savor as gales blow and snow begins to fly!
The tempest rages for days - they will surely be snowbound,
But a blazing fire warms the old home - love and cheer abound!
Since early in July Pa has had his eye on a special evergreen tree.
It now graces the parlor and they dance about it with glee!
Brightly lit candles adorn branches of the perfectly shaped fir.
'Neath lies the Babe - The Magi offering frankincense, gold and myrrh.
The boys have hefted armloads of wood from the ash tree grove,
For Ma and the girls to cook delectable fare on the wood-burning stove!
Titillating aromas waft from room to room in the gracious old house,
From the roasting goose, venison and tender prairie grouse!
Rusty the dog and Simba the cat lie snuggling near the fire.
The family gathers 'round the pump organ for an impromptu choir.
Bellowing off-key, Pa leads them in carols, all in spirited mirth,
And later by the hearth they hear Pa read about the Savior's Birth!
The ancient grandfather clock tolls ten - the kids are shooed to bed.
Ma and Pa place presents 'neath the tree in old Santa's stead!
With a twinkle in his eyes, Pa steals a kiss 'neath the mistletoe!
The excited kids scarcely snooze listening for Santa's Ho! Ho! Ho!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
He hand-hefted garbage cans,
Dumping the debris onto a truck.
He was one of life's "also rans"—
A boozer, a loser, absent of luck.
His name was George, some say.
But "Wino" was his "given" name.
Gulped a gallon-plus every day,
Yet he seemed reasonably sane.
Years without protein did him in—
Bones were as brittle as glass.
He fell one day when drunk as sin
And collapsed into a mangled mass.
I wonder who picked up the pieces
Of a life that had gone all askew.
No brothers, no aunts, no nieces
No one to claim George's residue.
That fact should not come as news.
While he lived, none came to his aid.
It wasn't for the absence of clues;
They marched in the "me" parade.
Rechargeable Electric Mosquito Bat
Ho, ho,ho..!
What a joyous Christmas season it is gonna be…
This little gift my favourite little gal has just bought me…
Tore away the gift wrappings to reveal another plastic wrapping……
Shades of blue with a coastal scene and a hue of orange…
Turn it over, the same shades of blue and a set of instructions…
Hefted and gingerly ran fingers all over this gift for confirmation…
As realisation slowly dawns and elation builds up to a crescendo..
I spied a rounded sticker, prominently displayed with a design logo…
Slowly I carefully read the words inscribed in the black outer rim of the sticker..
Rechargeable Electric Mosquito Bat, clearly lettered in bold white colour…
Ho, ho, ho..!
Gave out a pent up whoop of lengthy cackled laughter..
A Rechargeable Electric Mosquito Bat, just what I have been after…
Felt an adrenalin rush, knowing now I can be the master…
Come what may, mosquitoes by the hundreds I shall not falter..
In my hands now, a supreme weapon of destruction made in China…
With a mere flick of a switch and a wave, every mosquito will be cinder…
I can almost smell the acrid aroma of a roasted flying mosquito..
And hear the shrill sizzling of another hapless insect in death throes..
Ho, ho, ho..!
Can’t wait till night fall when the little flying creatures come a calling…
Gonna to stay alert for quick kills when the mosquitoes come flying…
Maybe I should go about the house and start a mosquito hunting exercise..
Better still, let me get my windbreaker jacket, I'll go outside for an immediate exercise…
If I get started now, I will have a headstart and man, I will get to kill hundreds..
Today is the dawn of Armaggedon for all those pesky mosquitoes and flying insects…
Maybe neighbour Joe would like to join me in this worthwhile mission..
Heck, think I will pop over and invite him along and together we’ll see some action…
Hey, Grandad, where are you going with that gadget now?
These instructions, they say you’ve got charge it for 10 hours first time round!
Huh?
‘NO ENTRY HERE’ the notice read
It’s ‘MEMBERS ONLY’ here
Access for the other class
is sited at the rear
That door ‘STAFF ONLY’ stated
Confused I turned away
When another sign accosted me
NO HAWKERS go away
In state of some perplexity
I headed for the gate
When on a pole I noticed
Another sign, PLEASE WAIT
Confused and sad I used my case
To ease my heavy load
My eyes fell on those fateful words
Written on the road
‘YIELD’ it said in letters white
My hands shot up in fear
As frantically my eyes searched
For, why must I do it here
‘NO WAITING’ then assailed my eye
I stood and hefted case
And left the place of many words
As though it were a race
I guess I would be home by now
If it wasn’t for the cop
Who didn’t understand how I
Got ran over at ‘BUS STOP’
Thud
This thing born of breath and bone,
Seated on its secret throne,
A harbinger of ignition,
Pulling us from our perdition.
Thud
By the dream and the waking,
Anger ripe for the taking;
It reaps the spite from our minds.
By moon and star, flesh it grinds.
Thud
Distortion: its holy blade.
Singing songs of pain and rage
Wrought of mortal blood and steel,
Hefted high with fervent zeal.
Thud
The power of death endowed
While the thunder rolls throughout
This keen five-minute crusade.
In finale, the sin fades
Thud
The Metal cannot be stopped.
Born from those who rolled and rocked
It’s darkness: a warm embrace.
Rage released, a swift escape.
Thud
Thud.
And pounding, my heart feels the pull of the music, and it knows that it is free.
There is urgency in their flight
a scurrying haste to the search
each twig chosen by the eye of experience
balanced, hefted, delivered.
Ah, the nesting process
endless anticipation and preparation
old string, discarded ribbons,
a tuft from freshly groomed pooch.
The settling in, sitting, and waiting
an avian time share plan
a squawk, a peep, a chirp
spring chicks arrive.
Shielded by soft leaf sprouts
rocked by gentle breezes
lulled to sleep by spring rain patter
awaiting a beak to beak breakfast.
2/25/2021
Spring Birds Poetry Contest
I tucked out the earth with both my shaky arms.
I sighed out loudly till a sob terrified me to death.
A giant heart touched me with my final breath.
No dark disguise, by God, can hide this charm.
The earth is heart-shaped, and heaven is above.
Beyond pure joy, souls might encounter God.
They refuse to split, or the sun sets over a trod.
The heart can pulsate water rise and earth move.
Deathly sleep at the mercy of brutality.
The Earth's ultimate radiance was lost.
All the huge hope ever to be given had a cost.
His once proud world was ruined by humanity.
A haughty beast has conquered the earth.
A world where neither love, life, nor death matter.
His conduct was utterly impolite and shatter.
No friendship, no religion, not a shred of worth.
He usually came to a halt due to his torn feet.
He hefted a broken metal remnant in his hand.
Looking everywhere to find the burgundy land.
Throw it away and proceed without deceit.
I asked the stranger why he was there, instead.
Where does battered earth gaze up at the stars?
It might be a gift from a loyal friend of the arms.
I caught sight of his eyes as he tilted his head.
What are you seeking with those epic eyes?
I urged once more where the false heroes fell.
Faith is always and forever buried and can tell.
For steel, he urged to design a blade of surprises.
Written: October 20, 2022
last Friday
My English class just ended and everyone’s packing up (18 students). The class is held outdoors under a tent due to COVID. My professor says, “Ms Vionet, may I speak with you for a moment?”
I froze, Oh, my God, I thought, is he about to tell me to quit - has he already identified some fundamental inadequacy in my work? The world seemed to go silent as I hefted my backpack and approached him.
“Ms Vionet,” he began.
“Anais,” I interjected.
“Anais,” he patiently started again, “We have a small professor’s choice (invitation only) writing group that meets every two weeks, 7 to 8 PM on Wednesdays - would you be interested in joining us?”
It was hard to hold back a pterodactyl screech of delight. “Yes sir, I’ll be there”
“Here”, he said, motioning to the tent classroom “weather permitting.” He had packed up, he turned and headed for some nearby stairs.
I did a twirl of joy.
.
.
.
ps, I write short stories too
It was hefted upon a breeze -
As in a warm, flowing current
Through a sea of palo verdes -
To search for an embankment.
That seed of promise -
An implicit aster -
Was sent to broken gneiss
To become one with nature -
A golden bloom to come
To an expectant glen -
Not knowing how it found home
Except that it did.