Best Hunkered Poems
As I gaze upon my Christmas tree with the ornaments, glitter, tinsel and snow, I see the many presents scattered around. The shiny star on top catches my eye and I cant help but to think of Joseph and a very pregnant Mary travelling thru the wilderness on a donkey happy to find rest for the night in a manger. I think of the Magi following the star thru a hostile land to worship the babe.
As I gaze upon my Christmas tree I cant help but to think of Jesus carrying that tree up the street to his death and execution. I hear the whips crack and the bloody cries. I can hear his mother crying and see the tears on her face. I can feel the tree shake as they drive in the nails. I am thankful for the sacrifice of God's son for my sins.
As I gaze upon my Christmas tree I cant help but to think of the poor hungry, shivering masses around the world hunkered under a tree in a shanty home, clinging to life, I hear the children crying and I see the tears on the mother's faces. I see fathers broken down struggling to feed their families. My heart breaks for them.
As I gaze upon my Christmas tree I cant help but to think of my many blessings. My family, my job and my home. I have clothes to wear and food to eat and a warm bed to sleep in. But most of all I cant help but to think about the true meaning of Christmas. I pray when you look at yours you do too. Perhaps together we can remember the weak and make someone's world a little better.
Christmas Tree Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Shadow Hamilton
12/3/18
Lone survivor
July 3, 2015
~+~
I sit alone in my basement all hunkered down
My faithful dog with me
Because tonight is the night of firecrackers
And firework, yep it’s the 4th of July.
*
My dog gets to wear a rap around cover
I get just my basement,
You see I am a lone survivor just like my dad
He from world war 2 me Vietnam.
*
My platoon was on patrol when we saw some
Kids playing baseball it was on the 4th of July
So we asked kids if they wanted to play us
Sure thing, as we were playing an enemy.
*
Patrol had seen us and hit us as we were playing baseball,
I got hit in the leg and fell down my buddy was hit
In the head and killed he fell over me
I played dead as they check us over.
*
It took me three days to crawl back to base
All platoon was wiped out but me.
So on this 4th of July like others
I will hate and hunker down as the damn firecrackers
And fireworks go off…
Perched high upon the escarpment
of sandstone rubble, the boy sat,
shaded from the rising of the sun
in the shadow of Kings.
Sharp eyed he preyed
upon the tourist below, and to his God Allah.
His path was a treacherous one
looped and twisting like the snakes of ochre gold
shone cresting the brow of Ramesses
in the unearthly Valley of the Kings;
far from the osprey and marsh grass
of the beloved Nile.
Below the boy, on a zigzag path
between the mouth-like openings to the netherworld,
tourists swarm, ants on a mound of honey stone
suckers of sweetness, oblivious,
as they had done for centuries.
He sat as his father before him
hunkered down knees to chest
the vulture heraldic creature of Upper Egypt
death eater, little had changed except
now the robbers wore blue jeans and not the hajab.
He had earned his small bit
of the twentieth century..hawking
...He reformed the routing patriots,
formed a line atop a rise, Perrine’s Hill,
brought in General Knox and the artillery,
commanding the mass through sheer force of will.
He needed to buy time for the main force
to march on and join up in the battle,
the British kept coming, soon to attack,
convinced they still had the patriots rattled.
Before in battle the Redcoats just had
to flash their bayonets in the bright sun,
that was enough to scare Continentals
and assure them the battle was won.
But they were no longer facing such men,
the Americans had learned Europe’s game,
they did not flee at the sight of steel,
gave hard volleys once the foe was in range.
Britain’s field commander, General Cornwallis,
made several attacks to break up the line,
only to run into fire and rage,
with his Redcoats turned back every time.
They he tried to turn Washington’s left flank,
the boldest maneuver of the fight yet,
but the main force had come, and pushed forwards,
striking hard under young Lafayette.
Seeing there would be no quick victory
the British withdrew there forces back,
both armies in defensive positions,
the fight would become a long slugging match.
Soldiers hunkered down as across the fields
artillery thundered and cut loose,
both sides trying to break up the other,
their foe’s ranks they sought hard to reduce.
The heat was such that many of the men,
suffered and even died from heat stroke!
One man passed out and his wife manned his gun,
fighting on alongside all the blokes.
Then Washington sent Nathaniel Green
with artillery up towards Comb’s Hill,
a high position on the British left,
from which the guns could enfilade and kill.
The British saw their hopeless position,
and quickly began an ordered retreat,
marching north towards Clinton’s main force,
having blown their opportunity.
Washington saw his enemy leaving,
and sent Mad Anthony Wayne forward,
to harangue the British as they marched off,
cutting down men despite their good order.
And through the battle ended as a draw,
for the nation it was victory,
they’d kept the field in an open battle,
and matched the Redcoats in soldiery.
This changed the calculus of the whole war,
all knew battles would be more costly now,
England would no longer campaign in the north,
hoping for easier prey down south…
The wind whipped through the vale that winter night;
he hunkered down, his watch to keep.
A solitary star gave off its light;
oblivious, the sheep
lulled by their shepherd's song, lay slumbering in sleep.
They suddenly were no longer alone;
an angel of the Lord appeared
and all about, His wondrous glory shone.
The shepherd, much afeared,
shook, naked and exposed; the sight, his senses sheared.
But grace on grace, the angel said, "Behold,
I bring you tidings of great joy!"
And thus, just as the scriptures had foretold,
Immanuel, a boy,
announced, not to the rich, but to the hoi polloi.
And as he spoke, 'twas like a switch was thrown,
the veil drawn back, a mere facade;
surrounding him, a multitude had grown.
A sight that overawed:
the host of heaven singing, glorifying God.
—————
for the A Christmas Special Poetry Contest
sponsored by Emile Pinet
written on 12/3/22
From the second chapter of Luke, in the a:b:a:b:b rhyme of an English Quintain with 10:8:10:6:12 syllable counts...
Reverie
smooth
sometimes I wonder
is this a living world?
no movement
no horizon
January
out on the bay
dog team hunkered down
like fur drifts
they sleep warm
as I,
laying back on the sled,
contemplate
the glare of
nothingness.
Continued from Part 1
The trees, they hang in time and space around me –
trees, which in time before had swayed,
so gently tugged by ocean breezes,
trees, which in time before were lightly lit
with emerald tinted leaves,
trees, which in time before had reached to space above
with twisted tangled fingers,
grasping fingers,
fingers drenched with golden tears
shed by the Mighty Eye.
The trees, they hang in space and time,
benumbed and frozen motionless around me
chilled with rooted premonitions of the void,
their branches clutching darkness
and their leaves foreboding doom.
The muted winds begin to whisper tales
of many frightened things,
which, with mournful apprehension
have hunkered down behind the haze
and ceased their joyful play.
And all the while dank shadows gaily dance
a dismal dance,
for their time is soon to come.
The fitful shore lies suddenly still.
Unfeeling stones and hollow shells,
are paused a little,
stalled,
and dropped haphazardly,
midst their mindless random journey,
now abandoned by the sea,
for fickle waves have slipped away
to greet a falling prey.
And as the Mighty Eye droops lower,
laminated molten lips
are pursed and pucker higher,
sucking in the sky.
Within a trice the Mighty Eye
submits and squints, distended red,
perhaps tormented by fantastic thoughts
of imminent demise,
or else of being lashed beneath a lid
of distant faithless waves.
And as her dying flash dissolves,
two lurid lips arise,
three lusty lips -
a thousand parted limpid lips
which asudden,
though with little haste,
consume the Mighty Eye.
EPILOGUE
The trees are now but lurking shades
amongst the murky shadows.
Relentless fog slips slowly by -
her floating tongues drip silence
as they slink like snakes in stealth nearby.
The lacerated faithless lips have once again returned
to kiss the vacant vapid shores
in a brief eclipse of time.
END
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the sky,
Santa's reindeer sped bringing toys to the world's small fry.
"On Dasher! On Dancer and Prancer! On Cupid and Vixen!
Lead on Rudolph! Speed it up there Donner and Blitzen!"
Rudolph knew the routine since he had led Santa for years,
Cruising o'er Australia, Merry Olde England and sunny Algiers!
Suddenly, Santa saw strange sights he'd never encountered before!
Whizzing past him were dozens of satellites and space junk galore!
But faithful Rudolph was alert and said after another near miss,
"Never mind, boss! Trust me and hang on! I'll get you through this!"
Santa clutched his toy bag, hunkered down and closed his eyes,
Relying on the red-nosed one to guide him safely through the skies.
They made it alright and Santa visited every isle, city and nation,
Spreading cheer to all who awaited his visit with great anticipation!
Santa brought presents to all good little girls and boys worldwide,
Thanks to his magic sleigh and reindeer with Rudolph as his guide!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Snuggled and hunkered down in winter clothes
Nestled warm in a winter wonderland
Only parts in sight are their eyes and nose
Wee ones out to play who can barely stand
Elegant in burnt orange afterglow,
sparkling starlight opens the show.
Neighbors and strangers appear all aroun’,
porch lights and car lights enlighten the town.
They arrive afoot and atop handlebars.
Tots wave from strollers like famed movie stars.
Mothers bellowing orders to stay in sight,
transgressors will rue being naughty tonight.
Flickering lights and untied laces
nudge fidgety feet through their paces.
Masquerade masks make eager accomplices’
too impish eyes and mischievous faces.
Scowling Jack-O-Lanterns carved in creepy effigies
prove impotent charms to appease candied fantasies.
Festooned arches adorned in orange and black,
ornate ornaments to win the neighborhood plaque.
Into the gauntlet of terror they swarm;
dressed to play in pillaging uniform.
Tree and flower tremble and quiver;
Bumped and trampled in their fervor.
Werewolves wailing through grimacing grins
herald a night of howling hymns.
Ghostly spirits from the bowels of earth,
hang from gallows, grinning in ghoulish mirth.
Silken chains embracing all who stray,
beckons the widow to her frightened prey.
Garnished by cackling cries of certain demise,
steaming cauldrons poach their pitiful prize.
Spades of woe shadow souls who rashly ignore,
ominous omens attached to windows and doors.
Like tocks from a clock they continue to arrive,
will the morrow find anyone left still alive?
Hostiles charitably looting town,
sacks of booty slowing them down.
Toting bags of looted plunder,
looming hordes scatter asunder.
Pass me by, to my neighbor grace his stage,
assuage with him your gluttonous rage.
Rapacious hands swaying in ritual dance,
exuberance untethered in blitzing advance.
Eyeing my castle the rioting rabble rush in,
guarded only by growlin’ dog an’ smilin’ pumpkin.
Upon my stoop they brazenly climb,
my breath on hold, I hear the chime.
My time I fear is near at hand,
my blood or treasure they demand.
Hunkered down and hidden from sight,
no mercy presented for my plight.
With sweaty palms and pounding heart,
please Lord I pray, make them depart.
For a shot of strong “Spirits” I silently scream,
‘cause I forgot the candy on this Halloween!
Yesterday, I happened upon a quaint, old-time country store.
I felt I was reliving my youth as I trod its squeaky wooden floor!
The sights and smells were familiar when I entered the door.
Memories flooded my soul as I gazed upon those things of yore!
A glowing pot-bellied stove provided an inviting place to sit and chat.
Upon a barrel of cheese snoozed an inscrutable tabby cat.
Old-timers were playing checkers hunkered over a pickle barrel.
'Mongst the clutter of merchandise you browsed at your peril!
Suspended from rafters were horse collars, lanterns and milking pails.
Boots, overalls and cured hams were hung with ten-penny nails.
Silverware and pocket watches were displayed in sturdy oak cases,
And others held buttons, thread, needles and rolls of fancy laces.
There were boxes of cigars, Mail Pouch tobacco and various tools,
Straw hats, aprons, bonnets, corsets and rolls of colorful tulles.
Stacked on shelves were galluses, overshoes and boys' caps,
Crockery, umbrellas, mantel clocks and several muskrat traps.
One wall was lined with churns, cream separators and kerosene stoves.
Wafting about the place was the pleasing scent of cinnamon and cloves.
There were bins of onions, taters, carrots and fresh roasting ears.
I sat by the stove a spell to absorb the flavor of yesteryears!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Life was hard and he had lost all that mattered
first his mother who was murdered on her way home.
He watched his Dad unable to cope with her loss
fade away to skin and bones a relief when he passed on.
His wife walked out on him with their three children
leaving him with a pile of debts and a broken heart.
He lost his job for too much time off with no reference
and soon he would lose his house to the bank and divorce.
Now the final straw he was terminally ill and in pain
constant debilitating pain that sapped away his strength.
Lining up the bottles he poured out a healthy sized drink
and placed the pills ready in rows, with six in each pile.
Putting on a selection of his favourite bands he hunkered down,
settling himself as comfortably as possible this last thing
in his own hands, he got to chose. Not the illness he would beat
that by his own choice, for him death no longer held any fear.
Sipping, swallowing he washed down the pills until none remained.
After all enough was enough and he had nothing left to lose.
As he drifted off he dreamed of better times now past and gone
Soon he was walking in pleasant green pastures, ahead he could see.
His parents waiting with smiles on their faces and open arms
a vivid bright light that burned his eyes and yet welcomed.
He walked through the veil with eager steps to perfect peace
leaving behind without any regrets, the empty husk of his body.
I dig beneath the autumn leaves among the earthy rot
To free an earthworm situated there its freedom to fresh air
Thus I grasp the wiggler- tis slimy and wet-it wiggles all the more
And place it in an old fruit jar amongst brethren already there
Now hunkered on yonder river bank I reach into this bait filled jar
To grasp a wiggly wiggler and skew it to my line
That it may do its job as only it best can do
Then a moment poised over the water then baptized anew
Sit I do until the wiggler is caught -a tug then reel him back with glee
For the fight is joy due to wiggler’s ploy
Tis great that I have worms
For I get all the glory
Across the sea in a far off land,
Hunkered down in a bombed out farmhouse, a soldier makes his final stand.
Seriously wounded, but no fear does he show,
As the enemy approaches, he’s locked and loaded and ready to go.
As darkness nears this may be his only break,
With night vision goggles on he is willing to give back as much as he must take.
If his ammo holds out he may have a chance,
In hopes that his squad can reach him in their forward advance.
As pain from his wounds are taking their toll.
A vision of getting home to his wife and young son is now his primary goal.
He wipes away sweat even though the weather is cold,
With no thought of quit he waits for whatever to unfold.
Rat-a-tat-tat, the machine guns make their report,
As he holds his fire, at the present, the ball is in his court.
They don’t know for sure he’s there as they try to draw his fire,
As he huddles close to the ground in his own blood and mire.
All at once they are upon him as he raises to shoot,
But the enemy falls before he does and it takes a moment for this to compute.
Then he spots his comrades as they make there way to him,
He said you guys are a sight for sore eyes, he said my chances were getting pretty slim.
They get him to a med-o-vac and back to base,
As they work feverishly to save his life, he loses an arm in this ongoing race.
Weak and weary, they ship him back to the states,
To convalesce, and thank God that his arm, the price he paid for our freedom was to be his
only fate.
He thanked the Lord for sparing him one arm to hold his wife and little son,
He thanked the Lord that he got to come home and his battle was done.
He thanked the Lord for a country that embraced him in his darkest hour,
And to the Lord he gave all Glory and Thanks for His Almighty Power.
Roy lived in the boondocks in a little Georgia town.
Living off his land, the hermit had hunkered down.
His neighbors thought he was downright strange,
But really he shunned any human exchange.
One day a little black dog wandered on his land,
A friendly little thing taking food right out of his hand.
The dog had tags, so Roy knew he must live near.
He mulled it over while he had a cold beer.
He knew the right thing to do was find his home,
Instead of letting the poor thing roam.
For now he decided to wait a day or two,
And enjoy this pet that came out of the blue.
The mangy mutt followed him in all his chores,
And Roy fell in love with his friend on all fours.
After awhile Roy starting having guilty thoughts,
Knowing the owner could be very fraught.
So he set off with the dog to do the right thing,
And tried to forget his four-legged fling.
He found the owner about a mile down the road.
And gracious words of gratitude were bestowed.
The dog’s owner then told him he was in a bind,
He said they were moving, and had to leave the dog behind.
So hermit Roy offered to take the indigent hound,
Then left ecstatic with his new friend he had found!
3/10/16
Humor Contest
Sponsor: Carol Eastman
Awarded 1st Place