Best Hole Up Poems
In the sky
At the bottom of the Earth
Four times the size
Of the U.S. of A.
In Chile,
Blinded salmon, rabbits,
Ranchers
Testify to something nasty
Going on with the sun.
Up North,
Cavefish politicians
Scoff at these revelations, saying,
"No hole up here, and see -
We've been blind for years."
One day these self-made eyeless
May find themselves upon the plates
Of forgotten Morlocks down below.
When the world won’t let me be,
And religion just screams.
And everyone keeps telling me,
What they think I ought to think.
And by the looks of things,
I don’t think I want their version of peace.
Peace doesn’t blame,
Peace doesn’t shame,
Peace doesn’t scream,
Peace doesn’t always look the same.
And from what I’ve seen.
Peace can’t be summed up by your latest religious meme.
You see,
Truth isn’t always what you wish it to be.
It stands alone
And doesn’t rely at all on me.
You see,
Peace sometimes wields a sword.
Yet sometimes offers the other cheek.
You see,
Peace can’t be purchased with modern dime store democracy.
Can’t be controlled,
With shiite theocracy.
Or with bible belt hypocrisy.
Can’t be contained by your good deeds of mediocrity.
Although your store bought Botox smile may look down on me,
The gastric bypassed mindset,
May only see what it wants to see.
First world problems,
Of the “plantation’s” convenience,
Never solved the issues of humanity.
You hole up in your ivory tower.
Telling me I need to shower.
You’re hoping that you’re sin’s well hidden.
Refusing to attend
The feast to which we’ve all been bidden.
You find it quite embarrassing,
That I wear my sin out on my sleeve.
Open for all the world to see.
You see,
I’m trusting in the One that covers me.
His strength/my weakness.
That’s my building block of peace.
You see,
The Drummer in this band I seek?
He metronomes a different beat.
It lights my path and guides my feet.
And if it’s all the same to thee...
I’ll march a different road to Peace.
Buck was a tough man
very fast with his gun
always just one step
ahead of the law
He rode from town to town
never staying all that long
because as soon as word got out
the young gunslingers would come
Now Buck was not a man
to go looking for trouble
but it seemed that some how
it was his middle name
Really all he wanted to do
was marry his sweetheart
and raise a fine family
to live peacefully with them
He had a small hideaway
high up in the Rockies
a simple log cabin
where he could hole up
Not the place to take a bride
far too isolated and bare
talking to Betty he asked her
to purchase some land
Make it down in lush valley
he told her, we can raise cattle
a few horses to start a herd
maybe some hens and geese for eggs
Betty found a prime piece of land
with a cool bubbling spring
trees to shelter and give shade
sweet green grass to feed them all
Buck and Betty got married at last
soon built a fine house and barn
with a corral and stables
yet all too soon their bliss shattered
Young gunslingers heard where he was
dropping by to chance their luck
ending up in wooden coffins
because Buck was real fast
Until one day the townspeople
rode out to see Buck
they wanted him to be their sheriff
to protect them from the bandits
Buck agreed to wear the badge
and rid the town of the bad guys
each day he patrolled the territory
many baddies he lay to rest
Yet he felt he had no real peace
that his life was on borrowed time
he wanted to live his life quietly
tending to family and his ranch
This seemed a wistful thought
as still yet more gunslingers came
one day he knew he'd meet a faster gun
and end his life face down in dirt
One day while build a nursery he got
Betty to chop while he held the logs
well Betty missed and got his fingers
cutting them clean off only stumps left
It was his gun hand that was hurt
soon the word went around
the young guns stopped coming
no sport for them now
Buck finally got his dream
and lived to a ripe old age
siring five fine children
and many grandchildren
Against all the odds
he died quietly in bed
his last words to Betty were
"That was the best miss you ever made"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Firelight ghost stories entertain the dark starless evening. Young eyes plead, tell me a ghost story please!
On a dark moonless, starless night much darker than this night, four young teenagers were cruising in dad's car on a deserted back road. The car made a pop then ceased to ignite. The teens were stranded in a dark lonely spot eery and too quiet for comfort's sake. Upon considering their options the youth decided to walk back to the last house they had passed SEVERAL miles back.
Together they took out on foot in the pitch black; stumbling sometimes running hoping for a miracle. When they got closer to town the old Mauk graveyard was a short cut to home. They decided to take their chances in the grave yard. Many years ago unknown to the youth. Bart Blame was hung for his murderous ways and buried in an unmarked grave toward the southern darkest corner of the cemetery. Bart swore to take all the souls he could into the firey depths of hell. Bart vowed to not go alone to the firey pit.
As the teens walked along, one youth John stumbled and fell into a hole up to his waist and began screaming. "Somethings got my legs, they're on fire!! Help me!!" His friends grabbed him and pulled him out of the hole and discovered it was an old grave.
There was a red glow that morphed into a boney hand then a full skeleton rose up out of the grave with and evil laugh said, "You dare disturb me, Bart Blame! I will not go back to hell alone. Your souls will accompany me tonight" The boys took off running
trying to find their way to safety. They ran until the red burning skull was in front of them laughing. The boys began to retreat away from the evil when they noticed only three running through the woods. Fear overcame the boys and they split up. John decided to cling to the church cross calling on the name of Jesus all night. He clung to the cross calling on Jesus to save him. In the mornig light John was the only one left and the other's bodies were in the grave of Bart blame burned beyond recognition.
Set 'em up barkeep and leave the bottle
I walked in know'n I may not walk out
I done robbed that stage last night
Now that there posse a'chasen, no doubt
Dang it, so tired of being noth'n much
Just want'n to start over, somewhere new
Didn’t mean to hurt no one for sure
But I did, now don't know what to do
So I'll finish this here bottle of Rotgut
And ride that sorry mule t'ward the west
If'n they don’t catch me before sunup
I'll hole up somewheres and get some rest
Now that pore broke down gal I know
Will think I's gone for all and good
Wished I could've helped her some
But can't go back, know I should
No good , that’s what Ma used to say
My pa was nothin, a mean robbin' thief
So when that there rain lets up a bit
I'll be ago'n, bring'n her no more grief
Hope I get a' buried by a big old tree
An' next time I'll try to be a better me…
George Washington an Old Fuddy-Duddy?
By Elton Camp
What image of Washington comes to mind?
In with your money is the one you will find
Right there George is, on the one-dollar bill
And looking humorless, old and extremely ill
No worse portrait could anyone possibly pick
It is showing a man who is aged, ugly and sick
Some fuddy-duddy is just what he appears to be
But that image of him is wrong, as we will see
Most of what we know of him is really incorrect
Now Parson Weem’s lies we’ve come to detect
“George Washington couldn’t possibly tell a lie
No matter if he wanted to, there’s no need to try.”
The parson told us about the chopped cherry tree
That story is just as false as it can possibly be
The Founding Father had traits good and bad
So, exaggeration and lies there’s no need to add
Handsome as a young man as well as quite tall
In a group of men, he towered above them all
In picking a wife, Washington really did excel
Martha was so pretty and also very rich as well
A young army officer, he was ambitious & bold
But not always successful, if the truth be told
Washington lost far more battles than he won
The Fort Necessity surrender surely wasn’t fun
That record didn’t stop his advancement, of course
He became commander of the Revolutionary force
Rather than hole up in a mansion in some big town,
Living with the troops with his wife he was found
After founding a country, he did an amazing thing
By serving as leader, but wouldn’t become a king
After two terms, the presidency George did yield
Return to Mt. Vernon & manage his land and field
Perhaps an amazing fact most folks will now find
Part of his living was from the making of moonshine
How does this fit with all the stuff we’ve been told
About the grim-looking guy inside your billfold?
Another thing about him that gives him greater charm
Washington introduced the mule to the American farm
He was the first president who could be considered green
To him, the advantages of manure as fertilizer was seen
Those Washington stories are enough to make one quiver
Like him throwing a silver dollar across the Potomac River
So no old fuddy-duddy was he or did he ever come to be
It’s that awful dollar bill picture that in our minds we see
Though the winds are wild,
And the gale unleashed;
Though waves bewail
And the surge swells:
My hurting heart still hums:
I know that Jesus lives,
I know He lives for me,
I know He's been my dyke;
I know He calms the storm.
So, I anchor in the Rock
Winds or waves cannot shake.
I hole up in its crevice
And wait for a while, trusting;
Just a while for God's glory
To drop like morning dew,
Distilling down the peace
Of heaven on the field
Dried by drought.
© 2015
Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
For fifteen years the peak has sat fallow,
abandoned to time as trees and bushes grow,
driving by always evokes a sigh in me,
long ago this hill was where I learned to ski.
But the industry is not what it once was,
snowmaking and insurance drove up the cost,
this place where families once spent the day,
now sits shuttered, slowly rotting away.
The old lodge has lost half its windows,
its siding faded by the sun's harsh glow,
there’s a giant hole up on top of the roof,
and graffiti sprayed by some drunken youth.
Lifts still stand, but all the chairs are down,
stacked in rows, rusting on the ground,
the cables now vanished into the trees,
paint is peeling, the lift shacks all moldy.
Laying nearby, twisted and half-stacked,
as if subjected to medieval torture racks,
sit piles of broken, old snowmaking pipe,
now simply scrap, glinting in noon-day light.
Saddest of all is the half-visible ski trails,
now covered in saplings, young, health, and hale,
where once me and my sibling fiercely raced,
where more than once I fell flat on my face…
The white swath of beauty clad in snow,
that once adorned this peak’s long slopes,
now grows in like pasture gone to seed,
it's become a place where mosquitoes breed.
It may seem bizarre, to some out there,
mourning for the cold and frozen air,
but this place once meant so much to us,
now given over to saplings and rust…
…sigh…
Since it’s the beginning of a rather bleak week,
I’ve decided to play games like hide and go seek.
First I have to round up some willing boys and girls,
They are around the corner , some are wearing curls.
We all have to be careful when choosing our sides,
We need glad ones, and nice ones, and some with tough hides.
We need screamers, and yellers, and gigglers too.
It’s keen fun playing games with pals that can “woo hoo.”
I like jumpers, and thumpers, and clappers galore.
To get this game started, I’d best go out the door.
I’m pedaling up the street, an inviting bike ride.
My friends cannot find me if I hole up inside.
Those who hole up in concrete brains
Miss much joy in the world
Do they fear others’ opinions might have merit?
Is this why they insist on blinders and ear muffs?
I cannot imagine how much energy goes into hate.
I hate this
I hate that
I hate the other
And how many more muscles does it take to frown?
I believe the most intelligent people are the flexible ones.
Flexible in their thinking, willing to listen to others
Willing to take chances, to risk something, to learn newness.
I feel sorry for the haters and the fearful. Don’t you?
In the backstreets of my mind I find passages anew
Along diverging paths, I often see my way through
There are places I can ramble or find myself rather lost
But there my thoughts can stumble at no damage or cost
As I rehearse new ideas in my own private hullabaloo
Then along some back roads not often taken or sought
Sometimes hard-earned battles are wearily fought
Am I good enough to give it a try? What if I should fail?
It is sometimes quite hard to allow myself to set sail
As my devils and angels ride by to espouse till I’m fraught
So I walk through my alleyways to hole up in a safety redoubt
Weighing each option before I’m ready to shout and come out
I choose to plunge in to move toward the road that continues on
For there’s no foreseeing the obstacles this path will then spawn
But I’ll use the streets in my mind and my “figuring it out” route
written: 9-25-2019
In the backstreets of my mind Poetry Contest 2nd place
Sponsored by: Silent One
At night in the prairies,
on the savanna,
the plow harrowed land,
or the scrub and brush
of sparse hunting grounds,
creatures are illumined
by a shimmering fear.
Trepidation ignites dark niches;
blood shines.
Fox and rabbit
watch in their sleep,
in their tunnels;
both sense each other
through a voltage of fur.
They are electric,
those that are hid by a shaded moonlight
are lit by a light that consumes itself.
Eyes are flashlights,
minds openly hunt or hole up,
all watch for the dire
glimmer of danger.
Closely concealed or at a distance
all follow the trace of a searching scent,
all share the body-heat of the chase,
or the quick pounce
of a breath-snatching find.
with scamper and scurry, slither and slink,
with rustle and rattle, crackle and snap
the shy, bashful, humiliated and humble
sneak away scared, to hole-up and hide-a-way
covering up their foibles and fears,
which they know all too well.
She’s a wily one. Watch out!
There is a tornado coming, Tornado Tressa.
She is feral, ferocious, fierce, filled with fury.
Tread lightly, better yet, hole up in a ditch or a basement.
A paw comes out, tearing up my white sock.
Then I hear a small meow. Good grief.
Is this what they are talking about?
Apparently none of these Venusites have seen a cat before!
They think it’s a tornado for some odd reason.
I offer to take care of it for all the plutonium I can get into my space ship.
Mission is a huge success.
I wave happily.
Check my gauges.
Adjust my mirrors.
“Planet Earth,” I say to my MegaBlaster.
Plutonium Princess curls up on a pillow and sleeps all the way back
Friday the 13th always takes over.
I can’t be saved with a four leaf clover.
Everything is ominous.
My cereal is filled with angry ants.
If I turn on the stove, will I start a fire?
Then run and trip over an electrified wire?
I tidy up and call the electrician.
I sit on the couch to avoid premonitions.
Friday the 13th is a lonely day.
I’m scared to be here but also scared to drive away.
As I could get in a crash.
I throw my old toaster in the trash.
My friends text and ask what’s wrong.
Wasn’t I supposed to ride along?
I check my phone and realize,
That this day I’ve been viewing with fearful eyes-
Is Thursday the 12th!
So no need to worry about my health.
Tomorrow, I can hole up again.
But for now, I’ll have fun with my friends.