Best Hie Poems
Oh, weeping willow - friend to me
enchanting thee shall always be.
I have bequeathed secrets to thee
whilst whispering gently to me.
Taketh comfort when hie to flee
nature’s maddening outburst spree.
Cometh rain, shine, you hear my plea
and protect me from life’s debris.
Graceful thee stand my eyes to see
awaiting and weeping with me.
Seasoned branches becoming free
to kiss the ground - teardrops from thee.
Your arching harbour so feathery;
long green leaves a pillow to me.
I rest in safety, hope, to be -
revived afore take leave of thee.
Nectar flowers that feed the bee,
bell shaped yellow, so bright to see.
Catkins fall as you give to me
a token of friendship - bless thee.
Oh, weeping willow - friend to me
enchanting thee shall always be.
I have bequeathed secrets to thee
whilst whispering gently to me.
Dawn slowly awakened to supplant the moon
Empty, the canopy where stars had been strewn
In repose, Luna slept after wandering velvet skies
and spider webs shimmered in the flight of sunrise
Dew drops evaporated upon the fragrant tuberose
as a playful breeze billowed my sheer nightclothes
Seagulls swooped and scurried along amber shores
A salty crew grappled with the sea on labored oars
Muscles pulled in rhythmic chorus, as if in lyrical rote
as surging waves rocked the hull of their fishing boat
They surpassed each crest and triumphed over swells
The sun's prisms painted the horizon in muted pastels
Inspired by the milieu of ruffled swirls across the sea
sunlight dappled over its surface in sequenced litany
I sipped a second cup as thoughts were being seeded
Poetry spawned inside of me; a birthing to be heeded
For as driftwood hastens down rapids to a new frontier
I needed to ledger my verses, ere they hie to disappear
August 13, 2022
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 12 Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
If I met God in a snow-kissed wood,
Would he sit beside the fire’s warm glow,
And share my wine and quail egg soup,
And marvel at the falling snow.
And speak of truths I’ve overlooked,
But listen without a tilted head,
Beneath a canopy of linty pines,
With two bellies fully fed.
Now he would think it rather odd,
This battered man in tattered shoes,
In a chilly wood with notebook and quill,
With nothing more, but my dreams to lose.
Not once would he pray or sing a hymn,
Nor surmise a confession, my list of woes,
Nor wish for a thawed breeze to hie,
Nor ponder the direction longing goes.
Nor criticize my fondness of another’s bride,
Like the full moon married to the night,
Thus only spy but never reach,
To her golden shores of Leyte.
Then God would stand and tip his cap,
Without a final word would go,
And wander off into the dark,
So I might marvel at the falling snow.
The warden’s bewildered, the keeper’s amazed
as the gate gapes behind us, a hole in the haze.
Our steps seem uncertain, the cobblestones crazed,
pearly stars burn above us like pinwheels ablaze.
Though lanterns hang vacant in streets staring blind,
broken paths paved in puzzles compel me to roam,
I’ll not leave you behind.
The cannons keep calling, the piccolos shriek
and the druids drift, drumming, while pale pagans speak.
They’re urging me forward, my senses they’ve mined,
and the trail is erupting, come hie to the hills
I’ll not leave you behind.
The looking glass glistens, a firefly glows,
and the brownies leap lightly on tiny tip toes
for the twilight’s collapsing, which serves to remind
that as dusk turns to dust, with no time for farewells,
I’ll not leave you behind.
The ponies of plunder prance, passing nearby,
as crusaders on stallions cast stones from the sky.
The figments they’re facing have paid them no mind,
but our broncos are bolting. Corral what you need,
I’ll not leave you behind.
My visions are swirling, they flash from the crown,
from the rainbows of summer, the tinsel in town.
While the compass wheel’s spinning, the minutes unwind
inside evening’s auroras – so cling to my cape,
I’ll not leave you behind.
Drooping droplets of wax adorn pinched candle wicks
while the vampire steeple’s cathedral clock ticks
of the terrors in tombs where fagged flames lie reclined
with their flickers fast fading – abandon the glim,
I’ll not leave you behind.
Continued in Part 2
I doff my fedora to the feller who invented pertater chips!
That genius developed the ideal thingy in which to immerse our dips!
How could we survive sans our weekly fix of Dominoes pizza pie,
Or a half-dozen Dunkin Donuts consumed on the sly?
Ain't nothin' as finger lickin' good as Kentucky Fried, original of course,
Or a Wendy's triple bacon 'burger when you're as famished as a horse!
Ah! The myriad of Mexican fixin's offered by the local Taco Bell!
Chimichangas, burritos, tacos, tostadas and enchiladas as well!
Japanese and Chinese establishments offer mysterious and fancy fare.
Try sushi, octopus, crawfish or deep fried squid if you dare!
If you crave ice cream, cookies or a hunk of cake or such cuisine,
Hie yourself on down the street to the nearest Dairy Queen!
For the hotdog aficionado there are weenie varieties galore;
Foot longs, chilidogs, smothered in sauerkraut and so many more!
Want some scrumptious and satisfying grub that'll fill your belly?
Get a ham on rye, thick salami or a Rueben at the neighborhood deli!
At Dad's BBQ you can order any kind of barbeque with greasy fries.
To top off the pancakes at The Village Inn you can buy chocolate pies!
Doctors and nutritionists would cringe at such a diet of course.
Fiddle faddle! I'll keep on eatin' that stuff with absolutely no remorese!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
So once again, with grim countenance, the ship sailed on with all bemoaning their woes
Till calm seas prevailed, with balmy sun, sweet zephyr song, they came to Helios' shores.
Helios, calm god of the day, smiled upon the lads, gave of his land free rein, but with a caveat-
Helios pride was his golden herd, indolent and fat,"Do what you will, but don't touch that"
Well, as was their wont, like a terrible refrain, full-weathered from woes and want, but yet unwise,
The crew, overcome by gluttonous greed, slaughtered a heifer, for raucous feast, not sacrifice.
Wild was Helios at this blatant deceit, with terrible curse, banished them all, to wander once again.
So with Helios' curse (and Neptune's help), the ship was tossed and soon lost, all crew were slain.
It was Odysseus alone who was alive, afloat on flotsam, floating about, with fervent wish of death
But sweet surcease was not his lot, more plight was his fate - his tryst was due with Charybdis yet.
Perhaps Scylla was a better bet, in it's slavering jaws a definite death, I think he'd rather have it
But caught he was in Charybdis' thrall, a vortex which ate him whole, and threw him out as spit.
Past the maelstrom's outer whirl was our hero tossed clinging to life's last hope, verily a straw
Floated, the wasted carricature of a man, denied of food and water, no sustenance he could draw.
But perchance the Gods smiled on him, wearied of their devious, puerile games going too long
Odysseus fell on land once more, where restored were life and limb, bewitched by Calypso's song.
Now Odysseus, all said and done, was a man vulnerable to worldly women's wanton wiles
And Calypso was full besot with our hero's lusty frame, his wit, his deeds and charming smiles.
For seven years did he taste bliss, ensconced in Calypso's arms with thought of home amiss
But one day, after seven years, did Caypso, with heavy heart, let him go on pleas of our Hermes.
From Calypso's isle did Odysseus sail on raft, through storm, as was now his habit, and came to Sceria
Where Nausicca, on Athena's urge, gave succor, till he sailed with Phaecians who had trade with Sumeria
The Phaecian ships soon landed Odysseus on fair Ithacan shores where Penelope had travail,
But my dear laddies, I must hie hence, for the Dawn is nigh, of Penelope and Suitors, is another tale.
Concluded
Sergeant Major O'Malley, Seventh Cavalry, had served nigh on three decades.
He rose through the ranks havin' served in squads, companies and brigades.
Second lieutenants were nuisances and he treated them as if they didn't exist!
He took recalcitrant lads behind the barracks to administer discipline with his fist!
You'd better have your horse and tack lookin' keen for Saturday mornin' parades,
Or Sergeant Major O'Malley would sear the ozone with his thunderin' tirades!
He'd escort you to the stables to shovel manure if you ever mistreated a horse!
Sergeant Major O'Malley's colorful lingo left one with a feelin' of remorse!
He had absolutely no patience with the foibles of raw and bumblin' recruits.
Lord have mercy on the hapless lad who failed to shine his saber and his boots!
Should a trooper snooze in the saddle when escortin' the colonel's stage,
Sergeant Major O'Malley would stomp and rave unleashin' a towerin' rage!
At the break of dawn when reveille sounded, he'd burst through the barracks door,
Yellin' "Up and at 'em me lads! Outta them bunks! What am I a-payin' ye for!
Ye sorry excuses fer sojers! Hie to the stables! Them hosses needs oats and hay!
And when that's done, git back here to eat yer grub and scrub this filthy bay!"
Things were different when he dismounted his horse and entered his house!
The one who gave orders and 'wore the stripes' at home was his formidable spouse!
He meekly responded to her constant commands with a resigned, "Yes, my dear."
"Taps" was a welcome sound at close of day in Sergeant Major O'Malley's ear!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
LVI Elapsed October 17th's Bore Witness To A Girl Born With True Grit
Tuss ben big goo me newt to write
and how though trite
thine complex edifice immersed in spite
which doth nobody any good RIGHT
hence hie exerted effort
from within this quite
mindful sib bull ling to detach himself from his own plight
and fashion attempt (however feeble)
to complete before this night
a communique (my apologies if thee cognition strikes thee
with dumbfounded hard to comprehend patois),
but perchance a mite
bit of the following - dashed off in a huff - epistle sheds light
on ceasing to ignore yourself (envious
of yar fierce sticktowithiveness) scaling height
of apprehension (more insurmountable than
natural mountain peak, versus taking flight
and shuttering ye out of my humdrum life (orchestrated
with mild sax and violins), yea not mooch to excite
but, this effort pressing fingers
upon select keys eventually generated a byte
size message sent via FIOS fiber optic and mostly airtight.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Tis with great difficulty birthday cheer proffered, when psyche still stung
by lash of acrimouny, calumny, effrontery, finality rung
humility indelicacy,...zealotry as if spoken with glee from your tongue.
unwise to sustain estrangement caws
each of us imperfect, aye kin attest mine past awash with flaws,
and admit crushing impact felt from others, especially late Zison inlaws
but, now yearly occasion of your birth opportunistic
despite being annexed by anxiety based on uncertain laws
sans human behavior, how ye might respond,
me owning modest kudos buffer as oopahs
to risk brokering a detente (which avoidance
toward thee) undermines cumulative, endearing hur rahs
visited times gone by,
which recent past found me unstoppably gurgling
invariably vibrating uvulas
(yes, ja probably forgot, this bro' born
a mutant Ninja Turtle) xy awes,
Dying to Live
From off this bier I will arise one day.
And nothing that has cowered me before,
Will hie me back again from whence I stray;
I leave, and seal the mausoleum door.
When from that threshold that I do depart,
I leave my travails lying on the floor.
Knowing that this new life stands apart,
I turn my back on fear I cannot tame.
Determining that I will make a start,
Where love and hopes rebound, and bear not shame.
But fear will not hinder my hurried flight,
From hush-voiced days I lost that whispered blame.
And though I stumbled through with blinded sight,
I boldly challenge terror-shrouded night.
© Copyright 2013 Shawn H. Hall - All Rights Reserved
In my own quiet bedroom,
In my own comfy bed,
Every night I escape from reality.
I give wings to my fancy
When the pillow hits my head,
And my dreams are like a movie that's starring me.
I'm Aladdin glidin' on a magic carpet,
And the djinn has ditched his lamp and hitched a ride.
The flying's great to get my kicks with,
But no good to pick up chicks with,
With a big blue bilious genie at my side.
I'm a knight from Camelot in shining armor,
Dueling dragons, saving princesses from doom.
What should be mine as recompense
I must decline and hie me hence,
The rules of chivalry are strict, no wiggle room.
I'm Columbus on that fateful expedition,
By sailing west we'll reach the East, least that's the plan.
While cruising 'round the Caribbean
Searching for a port to pee in,
We find, not India, but a new uncharted land.
I'm big brave bwana on an African safari,
Trapping savage cats because that's what I know.
As soon as we have made eye contact,
They're signed up and under contract
Then off to Vegas for my Circus Circus show.
I never know what's going to happen
When I lay me down to sleep,
It might give a less intrepid person hives.
I'm sure it's pure imagination,
Or maybe it's reincarnation,
And I've done those things before in former lives.
But whether Charlemagne or Sinbad,
Peter, Robin, Roy, or Fred*,
Or somebody else from myth or history,
In my dreams when I slumber
In my own Sleep Number bed,
I can be what, where, whomever I want to be.
But in the morning when I wake up
I'm so glad to be back home
Because it's really not so bad just being me.
*Peter (Pan); Robin (Hood); Roy (Rogers); Fred (Astaire)
Life! What approbations to recall?
A solace that never was – Utopia
Should such love get forgiveness?
The seminal seeds of such a cast…
Claims of the spurious narcissistic
Ah! Words, rescind not a sarcoma
lying brashly, filling its poison vial
long swallowed - bona fide denial!
(1/10/2021)
Nearing their curtain’s final fall, they fly
as the geese and monarchs; to warmth they hie
To hobble where once trees stood: golf courses,
smoothed for their lazy electric horses…
Chilled hearts and aching bones pay for the sun
Fenced off for their guarded and landscaped fun
For barely a stone-throw away, poor shakes,
Ripple the divide, hazing man-made lakes…
There they sweat through long sartorial jokes
fearing beams may strike a cancerous stroke
Whites and pastels their preferred uniform
Clearly labeled for their clubs’ garish norm…
Cloistered, they are already neatly packed
Boxed close for flames: coffins securely-stacked.
(3/5/18: ’06 Formula 37PC i/ii DMS)
after a few drinks
one cold night
the Rev. Mr Culpepper
left his club
in the eastern part of
Jasper County Mississippi
on his walk home
he was taken sick
and stopped at the residence
of a dear lady friend
the widow mary banes
there hie took
a dose or two
maybe even three
of medicine
followed by
some liquid
libation
here he suddenly died
in a manner of minutes
his disease
was found to be
bilious colic
Spare dimes and nickels were rather scarce when I was a lad,
But when I received a nickel now and then from my dear old Dad,
I'd hie to the store to buy a box of those ambrosial snacks,
Known to kids in all the land as scrumptious Cracker Jacks!
I can think of no other tasty morsel created for the masses,
Than that toothsome blend of popcorn, peanuts and molasses!
On the box was a picture of Sailor Jack in his sailor suit,
Along with his faithful mutt, Bingo, colorful and so cute!
Ah, but those magic words on the box are what caught my eyes:
"GUESS WHAT'S INSIDE!" - there was always a 'valuable' prize!
With trembling hand I'd reach in the box with great expectation,
And finding some trivial trinket, I'd give a cry of jubilation!
You might find a baseball card, jacks and among other things,
A tiny truck, ship, automobile and even 'diamond' rings!
A toy soldier, whistle, a fire engine, a small animal or plane,
A card with one of Jack's Funny Facts or a miniature train!
"What'd ya git?" kids asked, then swapping would commence.
In our youthful greed, these dealings grew quite intense!
In the autumn of my life, I peer back through the mists of time,
Recalling simple Cracker Jacks and times that were more sublime!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
With great respect to "Girl" by the Beatles, heretofore is my Shakespearean take, in which I have tried to retain the cadence, so you can sing along. The Beatles lyric appears first, for comparison :
Is there anybody going to listen to my story
All about the girl who came to stay?
She's the kind of girl
You want so much it makes you sorry
Still you don't regret a single day
Ah, girl, girl, girl
When I think of all the times
I tried so hard to leave her
She will turn to me and start to cry
And she promises the earth to me
And I believe her
After all this time I don't know why
Ah, girl, girl, girl
Should’st a single soul there be unto my tale would hearken
mere the maiden who abode with me
so content mine heart for aught though mine physic wast heavy
chide my humour not ‘twixt dawn and dusk.
Ah, wench, wench, wench.
Thinketh well upon the times I fancy hie me thither
o’erwrought she wafteth glassy-eyed
when the globe to me she warrants I attend her purpose
truth, for aye, I comprehendeth not.
Ah, wench, wench, wench.
19th August 2015
(alternately titled: ah me go march'n home on derange)
I'll play the devil's advocate, yet
prepare a stance with pitchfork
against misinterpreted faux attempt
to describe, how whet
d'ya column re: immigration officials coe vet
patrol, police, and poison tranquil casa blanca
where killer attack dogs fiendishly pin set
ting sharp fangs at jugular vein of respectful,
dutiful, and blissful (or at least
prior to being sniffed out) innocent
long time laborer on American soil now get
ting Das Boot to their unfamiliar Motherland
(despite living social
as law abiding righteous folks) fret
full, cuz unfairly punished, and
cruelly deported, dispirited, doomed
pained visage non verbally articulates
at un war rented deportation you bet!
with just a flick of the wrist
and alien hated, pigheaded,
and xenophobic ventriloquist
bring back the Alien and Sedition Acts
with a Trumpeting Latina, Hispanic,
and for good measure Mulatto twist,
where original writ (signed into law
by President John Adams in 1798),
historical footnote, aye cannot resist
spooking (like a ghost), those pee pill
born south of the border pooped and pissed
in potties of this proud country, sans free and brave
now frightfully get flushed out
glad to feign dis guise
as one among select Geronimo cadre
we henchman lubricate
wheels of injustice myst
tuff hie hiding dark shadows
(along the edge of night)
thence paddy wagon comes
to screeching halt nabbing
an "illegal alien" name on hit list
code word "bag dad" (biggest quarry)
and score a win
for Barren Trump Tah Mahal Incorporated
impossible mission special ops sentry slithers as trained
fearless to shackle wetback ranked big hest
catch also including booby prize,
as you correctly guessed.