Best Largely Poems
Two owls charmed me
moments before I embarked
on the hours of industry to come.
Their silhouettes were dark and secretive,
their voices wistful and low.
I had a moment only to be soothed
with no thought to the truer meaning,
sinister and cruel,
of their flight from industry to come.
Mere yards from where I sleep
the tree has grown large
much like its older cousin
mere yards from where I brood.
The loeries return
to a place that may once have been theirs,
and they speak with voices
almost as those of children.
They charm me as the owls.
In the small fertile garden
among acres of mortar and stone
and grass largely ignored,
I may see with fortune
the frog that enchants me,
the spider that does not much haunt me,
the serpent that surely does.
The Indian myna, relentless, imperious,
will not be denied.
The idiosyncrasies, kind and mean,
gave them form and breath and motion,
and domain, before our domain.
26th July 2018
My self esteem never peaked
Mental abuse always leaked
From your foul and mean mouth
All my dignity just flew south
And never came back again
Your so proud that you could win
The power of my sad heart
Broken from the very start
I was born -- it never ended
Young and naive you pretnended
To care for and love me true
Dishonest lies came from you
As I grew and figured out
What your lies were all about
It was too late for me to find
Self esteem of any kind
All my self worth you just ruined
My anger is largely brewing
As I think back to the days
I never recognized the ways
My siblings received the love
I needed and missed so much
Was I such a useless burden
You threw me aside and hurtin'
Fragile, unsure and so young
My chance on life never begun
An innocent baby can not grow
Without the love a parent shows
Why did my sisters and brothers
Get the love while I was smothered
By neglect and loneliness
So much joy my life has missed
A little girl trapped in the fate
Of so much despair and hate
As days go by,
And the pain gets worse,
I long to ride,
In my hearse
That "Exit Sign"
Above the door,
Calls to me,
Like never before...
I'm not a coward,
I'm not a fool,
But living with pain
Breaks the rule...
I hold back,
in fear of God,
And, I guess,
that's kind of odd,
Yet constant pain,
Just gnaws away
Makes me wish
Today's my final day...
And effects on loved ones,
Escapes me not,
To make them sad
Not a desire I've got
But pounding, twisting
Endless agony
Makes me wonder
How much more for me
That "Exit Sign"
Above the door,
Entices me,
Promising no more
Writhing pain,
Pulsating misery,
So very tempting,
Believe you, me...
Homebound,
Largely bedridden
The meaning of my life,
Seems so well hidden
To die alone,
And in pain,
My destiny,
A life in vain.
My blood trickles
through the tip of my pen
as my soul is exposed
yet once again.
Naked, my words
slowly open the door,
and step into the world
largely ignored.
Fearfully, they
confront giants of hate,
bigotry, ignorance,
Thus fixing their fate.
So bleeding, I
press my pen to the page
and bear my soul once more
to cowards’ rage.
OK PD let me explain to you how it is why you are only successful because of me
regarding all your supporters and sudden notoriety.
There I was. There was P D.
I'd been around awhile, but not my little PD.
I had and still do have many supporters who truly do support, love and care about me...
but I've given them all to my little poet destroyer P D.
I did this very methodically.
because I wanted to make a success out of my little poet destroyer PD.
It's tit for tat in this world of poetry,
despite whatever else others have tried to convince upon me.
The more comments you leave,
the more comments you receive.
and so one day I saw this very struggling beginner PD
who obviously
craved attention and fame,
because you see P D is very vane.
So I slammed PD bringing her some of the attention she so much craves,
bringing much needed publicity and notoriety over P D's way.
All of my backers so to speak who never heard of PD
were all P D fans and supporters as well as of me.
Then I stopped commenting on all of the supporters of me,
because I wanted to give them all to my little poet destroyer PD.
Because P D craves the spotlight, but not me.
I prefer to remain in the shadows actually.
and so you all can clearly see,
PD is largely successful because of me.
My little poet destroyer's forever herKidster, Billy.
We gathered for our thirtieth class reunion at Lydia's Smorgasbord.
I'd avoided such past events since in school I was largely ignored!
But my spouse proclaimed we would attend, thus ending that debate!
The dreaded encounter is expressed in verse below that I will now relate!
A social hour preceded the buffet where the booze freely flowed!
I looked about the room to see if I could spot anyone that I knowed.
I hardly recognized the campus queen - she had acquired a heap of weight!
That once haughty snob now tipped the scales, I judged, at one ninety-eight!
I saw the big-man-on-campus who was named most apt to score success.
He had a dearth of hair, an ample gut and an astonishing lack of finesse!
Some gal with purple hair staggered up to me and planted a slobbering kiss!
Must've been one of my old flames as I mused, "Now, who in hell is this!"
Guys gravitated my way boasting about this and that bending my ear.
They bored me with nasty jokes and trivia that I really didn't want to hear!
Of course I told all how great they looked, staring them dead in the eye,
And asking the Lord's forgiveness and crossed my fingers for telling such a lie!
The jocks were trying to impress one and all with their waning capabilities.
Most were hobbling about with canes discreetly masking their disabilities!
'Twas an interesting eve and the grub was great, of that there is no doubt,
But for our fortieth, fiftieth and sixtieth reunions, please include me out!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
EACH THING SUPPORTED BY INCERTITUDE
MERELY SMALL OR LARGELY BIG
EACH THING AT OCCASIONS IN MULTITUDE
SILENTLY THE SADNESS DIG
THE ASSISTANCE OF BRAIN
THE THUMPING OF HEART
CAN'T STOP ITS REIGN
WHICH CREATE GRIEF AS AN ART
ALAS! I M THE VICTIM NOW
AND FEEL HELPLESS INDEED
WANT TO ESCAPE BUT HOW?
AS IN MY OWN MIND IT BREED
I WAS JOVIAL, I WAS BLISSFUL
BUT NOW LOOK AT MY CREATURE
ALL IMAGINARY ALL FANCIFUL
MADNESS AND BADNESS PREACHER
IS GRIEF TO ENJOY
OR TO FEEL GLOOMY, DULL AND DIE
OR ACCEPT IT AS AN ACT OF JOY
BUT HOW? WATER IS IN MY EYE.
It came at the right time
Just before my fragile heart
Was about to burst with the largely
Unnecessary stress of work
Some things have to be completed
The boss's demands
Wielding power with no
Consideration for the small man
Or the small woman
(not so small now actually)
I think we are both tired
But rules is rules
They say "it's the journey,
Not the destination"
But the destination can be
Important too..
Anyway we made it
It's been a rocky road
Travelling via the starlight
Resting when the heat overwhelms
There is so much to look forward to
So much.
I sense it's very nearly time..
I just have to find us a bed for the night
The lady down the lane
Kept daisies by her windowpane
Clad in sun splashed coveralls
Her hair, a silver waterfall
Proudly she wore her bluebell bonnets
As she composed her floral sonnets
We would smile a shy hello
Her name, I never got to know
Now - dusty silence coats her stair
The bones of color, stripped and bare
Abandoned seedlings, parched segments
So largely felt, those little dents
A 'For Sale' sign sits on the lawn
I guess seasons - and gardens - move on
Yet, sometimes I see, through stained-glass rain
Daises by her windowpane.
3/20/20
For 'The Lady Down the Lane' contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Fashionable Fall flaunts her lustrous leaves,
catwalks flowing flora with earnest ease.
Haunting lullabies from the quaking trees
cast chilling currents from mountain to keys.
Dancing diamonds of glistening glow
show skies with promise of soon-to-be snow.
Sunrises and sunsets are a fireworks show
scattering the stars like dice in a throw.
Gowns of complementary colors trace
ribboned harvest fields at riotous pace.
Swirling with natural, elegant grace,
her glamor failing and fast losing face.
Tattered trees largely stripped bare of their clothes
leave a psychedelic pathway that flows.
With each rowdy breeze, it gustily blows,
and turns pale snozzle to a reddened nose.
With stinging, shallow breath and crimson cheeks
embrace lacy lakes and mountains’ paling peaks
till Winter steals through Fall and solemnly seeks
favor for upcoming ice-hearted weeks.
At this very moment coolies screamed, ‘train',
We scampered packing up our bags and bales,
A long-awaited train’s a certain bane,
But this one turned a boon, such were the tales,
An English gentleman hailed our hero
From his carriage and we parted to go
Our diverse ways—to our cattle-class seat,
There was no chance to know who that man was,
Nor yet more light on his tale could be lit,
Indeed, never-ending may prove some pause.
Some truths, some lies of life lie ever so,
Maybe, he took us as credulous fools,
A painful nerve and anxious seldom cools,
Some truths and lies born are never to know,
Perchance the man minted fun at our cost,
And damsels in distress lay buried, lost.
_____________________________________________
Narrative |01.04.2024|
Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali: Kshudhaarto Paashaana, divided in I to XIV parts, largely in blank verse that lapses into rhymes along with its twists and turns. The story is known to have happened during Tagore’s stay at Shaahibaug palace in Ahmadabad, the nearby river Sabarmati becoming river Suista in the story.
Clever
Creative
Deep
Different
Profound
Witty
These are now my favorite word's
Due largely in part to reader's comments
These are the word's
I wish written on my gravestone
and quoted in my obituary
Just incase i wake up in death
And need something to read
Or wonder who or what i was
If only to 1 single person
Once upon a time
In my past and former life
Rather than say if you can't say anything good about the dead say nothing
Good he is dead
No need for violence or aggression
A passive acceptance of oppression
A powerful tool for social protest
To be peaceful and not violence many will resist
It presumes the intent of social change
Some believe not using belligerence is insane
Nonviolence is a synonym for pacifism
When you hear this word, you associate it with Civil Rights and racism
Nonviolence is not inaction it is the patience to win
You gain a lot of support, love, respect, and friends
See many people do not like change
So many have used diverse methods in their peaceful campaigns
Dr. Martin Luther King seen peace and equality to all races in his dream
Mahatma Gandhi helped India win its independence through bigotry that was extreme
I think that we should inevitably re-shape the social order in a lack of prejudice form
If we constantly use peace, we can weather many of these racial motivated storms
To listen to another's point of view is largely dependent on reciprocity
Not injustice, hate, and apathy
That is what makes me so angry
Remember what Jesus’ says, "love thine enemy”
"Nonviolence means avoiding not only external physical violence but also internal violence of
spirit. You not only refuse to shoot a man, but you refuse to hate him."
Martin Luther King
Treat people as if they were what they ought to be and you help them to become what they
are capable of being.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
An eye for an eye only makes the whole world blind.
Mahatma Mohandas K. Gandhi
"The Resurrection of Writing a New Book"
Insular, a new world begins
from the inside it serves its Saviour
reconnaissance is the betrayor
incesscent it speaks non-stop
in cloudy roadmaps it stomps
unstoppable
the regiments read on
instructions they march
unhindered reviewers across
what is seen on a tethered cross
translation cuts
it throws its shining arsenal almighty
from the crowned heart
where the sharp thorns bloom
it writes its illuminescent stories
across sorry lips that try to speak outwardly
the synopisis is parched
the mind with arms outstretched
looks upwards for heavenly relief
upon the rolling hard edges
of burning Wormwood
where forgiveness is peaced
the measure of compassion
is largely pierced
confessions are heard and lost
on the brevity of a dead end
and that is how the Light gets in
dreams like this
are the resurrection
for writing a new book
the new exit strategy
before it is too late
dreams like this
are the resurrection
for writing a new book
before it is too late
dear Poet of The Day
Candide Diderot. ‘25
"Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding"
Khalil Gibran