Best Hubert Poems
Ambition is to play the Cello
Becoming a most talented fellow
Cellists make such sumptuous sounds
Delighting audiences the whole world round
Encouragement to take up lessons
From former cellist Hubert Hasbeen
Grimacing when he hears me play
Hasbeen lasted a week and a day
I was downhearted ~ I began to cry
Just when I spied her grandeur from the corner of my eye
Keyboard ~ Kettle drum ~ neither one did I desire
Laughing loudly I had found the one to set the world on fire
My heart it skipped a beat as I approached her silver feet
Nothing else would do for me the sound was so unique
Once I stood in front of her she smiled ~ it was so sweet
Playfully I stroked her keys as I began to feel at ease
Quivering with excitement and dropping to my knees
Resolute to practice every day and every night
Stoically determined to reach my ultimate peak
The Royal Philharmonic well they called me up one day
Unknown to me they’d heard my work and wanted me to play
Vowing to do my very best
When I auditioned with the rest
Xylophonist extraordinaire
Yells and cheers from all my peers
Zenith reached as played Pythagoras’ music of the spheres
Written 9th February 2020
Contest ABECEDARIAN
Sponsor Caren Krutsinger
1st PLACE
Contest Strand Select J
Sponsor Brian Strand
2nd PLACE
droll
slap you with a word
then, cross arms and wait
that's how she'd get you ... Grace Cleaves
out-of-the-blue idiosyncrasies that she'd notice in you
laid quite flatly in your lap
for you to comment on ... or not
all conversations started thusly
for she'd make all her determinations
(ie your character and humor)
from that initial punch-to-the-gut
brilliant, yet what most people despised about her
and what sent them fuming ... she, no worse for the wear
a sly grin and a wink to her dead husband
"We've lost another one, Hubert!"
I ... ADORED her for it, and it came to be something I depended on
she was brilliant, you see ... extraordinarily so
but few people tolerated her long enough to discover it
that was her point ... and MY gift
a gift I will always ache for.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "The Lady Down The Lane" Poetry Contest
Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.
A TRIBUTE TO MY BROTHER HUBERT W. HINSHAW, T/SGT, U. S. ARMY
8 July 1918 - 2 August 2014
Another World War Two hero has fallen from the shrinking ranks.
He was one of the Greatest Generation and we owe him a debt of thanks.
During the time of national peril Hubert heeded the call of his nation,
Leaving family and hearth behind to serve with honor and dedication.
He served his God and nation long and faithfully giving it his very best.
Now he sleeps 'neath hallowed soil having ended his earthly quest.
Hubie joins the ranks of his comrades whom he served with in the war.
With them he awaits Gabriel's bugle call for forming up once more.
No doubt there was a happy reunion with those who have gone before,
Mom, Dad, George, Lloyd, Opal and Cecil who welcomed him at The Door.
Dear Hubert you served with valor and courage all through life's patrol.
You'll be standing tall when you're mustered for the final calling of the roll.
During the battles of Guam, Leyte Bay and Okinawa, how you sacrificed.
What a glorious day when you reached out to touch the face of Christ!
You served mankind well and this day He'll place upon your brow a crown,
Saying, "Hubie, you served My people and your nation with great renown!"
YOU'LL ALWAYS BE MY HERO, HUBIE!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Hubert awash was a Josh for his Bonn,
he was in a toss at the ton and never knew his cons,
say today that was interest and wand, that he could only shoot his lawn-
he never needed but had all his own knots for the fawns.
Vacation in Manhattan
Thought I was going to be bored when we
Were told we were going to see
A panel hinged shutter
My speech was beginning to stutter
Jan van Eyck’s nude art I see
12/28/2015
The Ghent Altarpiece by Jan van Eyck is a very large and complex early 15th-century Early Flemish polyptych panel painting. The altarpiece comprises 12 panels, eight of which are hinged shutters
Artists: Hubert van Eyck, Jan van Eyck
Period: Northern Renaissance
Dimensions: 11' 6? x 15' 1?
I’m greeted by the freshly laundered dawn,
pale slate linen hung to dry above
a stirring city of collective individuals.
I cherish moments like these,
when I can step out in to the drying day
without forethought or agenda
and imbibe a city which has squirmed
beneath the clouds for a millennium.
And what a different place it would be if
the sun shone upon it more often.
What need would there have been for the
gilded Galleries de Saint Hubert
if not to protect the heads of the bourgeoisie?
What drive would there have been for Horta and Blérot
to duplicate nature’s balance indoors in glass, steel and murals
and sprawl sgraffiti jungles beneath damp eaves?
Why would beer need to warm one’s soul and feet
if one’s shoes were not constantly damp?
Where would have Magritte found his clouds?
How would the cobblestones of the Grand Place
manage to glow brighter than Saint Michel’s spire
if they weren’t slickened by an otherwise uncaring God?
How silent and plain the city would be
without colonial djembe undertones, postmarks
from a search for one’s self in clement Congo.
It is a city of grey
from which all colours run
free,
sober,
deep.
My great-grandfather had amassed extensive knowledge.
If anyone knew politics, he was the man.
He was a graduate of an Ivy League college.
He was a three-time supporter of William Jennings Bryan.
My grandfather continued the family legacy.
I had to consider him knowledgeable among men.
He closely followed domestic and foreign policy.
He voted for the likes of Al Smith and Alf Landon.
My father was quite interested in politics also.
The old man firmly believed in a stable world order.
It seemed there was not a thing he did not know.
His votes went to Adlai Stevenson and Barry Goldwater.
I had an uncle who knew all about politics.
In his lifetime, there was much money he would earn.
He was aware of all the angles and the tricks.
He supported candidates Hubert Humphrey and George McGovern.
I have a cousin who thinks he knows it all.
Great political knowledge is what he claims to possess.
He believes that in this world, he stands quite tall.
He cast his ballots for Bob Dole and Mike Dukakis.
With the candidate to receive my vote, I am not certain.
I am the middle ground between the hawk and the dove.
When I step inside the machine and close the curtain,
I will pull the lever that says “none of the above”.
Submitted to PoetrySoup February 27, 2011
we are one people!
earth belongs to all people!
equal rights for all!
Tribute to Hubert Humphrey, from my great State of Minnesota....I shook his hand once.
(my 350th poem on the soup!)
He sits at a booth and orders for everyone:
"Eliza will have a strawberry lemonade
and a salad, no dressing;
Hubert will take an ice-cold beer
to wash down his steak;
my grandmother, here, will have the chicken
and green beans;
and I suppose I'd like the duck."
The waitress responds to his requests:
"I'm terribly sorry, sir, but I’m terribly confused.
I see no Eliza to serve a lemon or salad;
and Hubert’s not here to prove he’s of age.
Your grandmother, dear, I’m afraid isn’t here;
and we don’t have duck here to put on your plate.
I'm sorry to say, mister,
but you are alone.
No one is here with you tonight."
He stares up at her, baffled—
two tangled prisms absorbing dim light
"Miss, I insist, please bring me the food.
My friends and I have grown weary
from battle and war and we need to dress our wounds.
Miss, can’t you see that we’re brutally beaten?"
"Sir, I’m sorry to say that you are not damaged
or beaten in any kind of way. Your clothing is bright
and your hair is all combed.
You are still very much alone."
He stands up straight and sighs,
"a man is born alone and so, alone is how he dies."
This poem has been removed for publishing on Amazon in WW II in Poetry: Veterans Stories in Poetry, including my late father's who was a Spitfire pilot in the Nigeria Squadron. As it says at the end, "For free speech".
https://smile.amazon.co.uk/WW-II-Poetry-Veterans-Stories-ebook/dp/B07DGLF33G/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1528537495&sr=8-1&keywords=Rhoda+Monihan
Oh! wind those windows down!
Gitchigumi, race your breath through my soul!
fill me with the strength your sons
Hubert and Walter gave us!
Oh Highway 61...bring me to your cliff tops,
let me feel the passion for justice
your brothers, Humphrey and Mondale gave us!
Pray I help just one unfortunate heart,
just one embittered soul....
Oh! wind those windows down!
Gitchigumi, race your breath through my soul!
-tribute to two of my heroes
We have our whims with acronyms,
especially with our Presidents:
Remember JFK and RFK?
~ They paved the way for LBJ.
'Course FDR started so much more--
the AAA and the CCC
the CWA and the FHA
the NRA and the PWA
the SSA and the WPA
~and who can forget the TVA?
But after HHH got to be the VP,
he just couldn't win any more...
He couldn't beat Nixon
who used all his tricks in
proving Hubert Horatio Humphrey
~ a consummate BORE...
'Course this made Humphrey so sore,
he had to settle the score,
raspy voice from the grave risen once more:
"Seems you have yet to meet Albert GORE..."
I have always been a bit wary
of Gary, Mary, Sherry and Larry
They each seem a little bit contrary
Fighting over blue, straw, or raspberry
I took this to Carrie, our head faerie
She thought my query was a tad bit airy
Looked it up in her faerie dictionary
Experts’ opinions appeared to vary
Enter an expert from a local dairy
his name was Smart Guy Mr. Perry
Sherry and I intended to someday marry
But count not agree on the right berry
Next, I consulted my wizard friend Hubert Harry
His preference is for a soft, dainty, pink raspberry
In the meantime. Sherry eloped with my cousin Terry
Now I have no use for them or Larry, Gary or Mary
Henry Harry Harold Hubert Hedgehog he
Rolls himself into a prickly ball, let’s let him be
When predators come to annoy, torment or play
His prickly thorns discourage them to go far away
Begin with a groove, some delicious, soulful melodies interwoven with genres including jazz, neo-soul, lo-fi hip-hop, jazz sub-genres/
with spoken word tricks in the mix with programmed drums, turntables, looping in Sonny Rollins, Elvin Jones, Hubert Laws, Lonnie Liston Smith/
add some house music word with a vibrant, rhythmic pulse packin' the dance floor/ so hey, whatcha say to the DJ as he's laying down beats, experimenting with melodic hooks and some nasty background heat/
double scratching Rick James Super Freak and pumpin' up the supa dupa bassline from Mary Jane Girls All Night Long to the party hardy dance house crowd/
ethereal pops of sound synergy drops/ man, hit me with a lo-fi boost so I can spit out my word anthem I'm sparking off now the heat be flowin' down to my dancin' feet/
I dig the Crooklyn crew is bringing back Break Dancin' with their signature freestyle/
they even brought their cardboard dance floor/ they be makin' moves and cuttin' grooves/ I hate to go but I'm outta here/
gotta jam into the poetry slam