Best Liberally Poems
hope and joy
sprinkled liberally
in generous amounts
butterfly magic juice
summer holiday shine
dragon flits mercifully
sunlit orbs
rainbow feelings
heartfelt spirit man
garden entices
marigold's ruffles
teasing the honeybees
faeries tiny secrets
hidden forever
mystically sound
peace and hope
calm above and beyond
earthworms heaven
sigh comes from soul
I feel the music
of the vegetables
pushing their way
realizing their truth
nurturing us forward
butterfly magic juice
enjoyed in all aspects
on a summer day
FOR MEN ONLY #2Contest
Yee Haaaa--- a Contest made for me
I'm a man and should write free
With no woman to tell me what
To bend my ear and bust my nut
To nag at me, noon and night
For me to get this poem right
To correct the words that I can't spell
In this grammatical living hell
"Change that word and it won't mean that
Don't say pussy when you mean cat"
But now this contest has set me free
So, I can write more liberally
And pen this in my own rendition
That's of course dear, with your permission
Those BURMA SHAVE signs used to give us kids something to do,
As down the highways and byways in our 1935 Dodge we flew!
The chef-d'oeuvre from the quills of very creative poets flowed,
Nailed to fence posts for our cultural enlightenment along the road!
Take note of this sign young reader as you pass this way!
In just a little while you too will be hoary and gray!
And like your Pa with steady hand be true and brave,
As you wield that straight razor usin' BURMA SHAVE!
She told her beau, "You remind me of a thug,
With that scraggly stubble sproutin' on yer mug!
If its my hugs and kisses that you crave,
Best ya start usin' BURMA SHAVE!"
The feller tried over and over to get a job,
But potential bosses thought him a slob!
Never apply for work looking like a knave!
Use gobs of BURMA SHAVE when you shave!
With her feller Mabel had a beef.
Claude's stubble caused her grief!
Said she, "Yer wreckin' our romance!
Ever thought of usin' BURMA SHAVE by chance?"
If on your mug you are well endowed
With stubble of which you're not proud
In the mornin' after yer kisser you scrub,
Liberally slather with BURMA SHAVE, old Bub!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
The queen of my heart lies here in state today, and my heart throbs,
Breaking like the darkness of any day, when she rose from her bed
And through rain and cold found her way in peasant haste and garbs
To scrub the pots, the clothes, the floor so her castle was fed.
I cannot regret her life, nor the hard gales of familiar poverty
It was her choice. My mother, Esther Jackson, in her simple life
The mold that makes great women virtuous, and wore the purple silk
Only few could see. She taught us them, nay, made us hard for strife:
This merchant ship that brought home bread, drank tea without milk
That we could form the fool in school; her hands were not afraid
To work and we learnt the royal value of industry, and took pride
Like her in doing simple things well. Against our selfishness she laid
The whipping of her tongue, and kept the best things she had inside
For strangers she expect to come. She wasted no oil, and used liberally
The rod of correction, pleading in our ears the cause of the poor
So that even a Balias, unwashed, unloved, found favor at her door.
When she told us to blow out that "Home Sweet Home" lamp, surely
You know she was saving oil, that she may have something to give away
And we may learn a person is never too poor to give, for bounty
Is not from the hands, it is from the heart. I loved this woman, the way
She prayed, calling each name and action to God, praising him happily,
And full of thanksgiving for each pound of flour and codfish she
Was able to cook at dead of night. You cannot measure her industry,
Tilling the soil, or raising hens and children, you do know her here
Whose fingers fumbled through arthritis to sew her children clothes
Who stood like a man, machete in hand, to fight the one who would dare
Disrespect her gate or threatened violence, the thorn upon the rose
Command respect, and her beauty a fragrance we can still smell today.
Our lamp never went out, our clothes had no holes if we cared
It's hard to be Green
in a Red v Blue drama scene
Hard to be heard
and seen
when the Blues
say the Reds
are too mean
and the Reds
find the Blues
too liberally obscene
It's hard to be Green
when political business
is all about capital investment debate
and not dialogue
about how to ecosystemically abate
the invasion of our hate
amid failure of our late
climatically failing
Anthropocene.
It's hard to be Green
and bravely seen
in a Red v Blue debate
about sharing our ballistic toys
with other militarized girls and boys
who believe we are safer to be mean
than to plant a spring fed garden
of polyculturally healthy
cuisine.
It's hard to be cooperatively Green
in a Win or Lose
Red or Blues debate
about who is most worthy
to trust
not to covertly lust
for powers bending the minds
and chilling the hearts
and killing the home
of our late Great Transitioning
unearthly mean
formerly Green
Anthropocene.
It's hard to grow Green
humbly in-between Red and Blue
appositions unclearly not not true,
undogmatically,
unemphatically
transpartisan green
green
green,
unseen.
Mirthels, found on woodland fairies,
are the currency they carry.
When too much dust weighs them down,
they release it to the ground.
Fireflies have learned this well;
they collect dropped bits by smell.
It’s what makes their engines glow,
adding more when things get slow.
Mirthels, liberally deployed,
can create a sense of joy.
Wonder and amazement too;
not just for the fairied few.
Sharing with the ones they trust,
they are free with mirthel dust.
Any child will know it’s true,
but few divulge this fact to you.
In the morning I heard the tea pot singing,
With the amber liquid sizzling,
Saw spouts of vapor ejecting,
With a sweet aroma tickling.
While pouring my cup of steaming tea,
Adding some cream, a little sugar and stirring it
I thought of the magic effect it brings,
Reviving us on every morning and keeping us fit.
As we sip it while we scan the news paper
We feel the early languor being lifted,
Keeping us hydrated throughout the day,
With our cognitive abilities liberally assisted.
I feel there is nothing like a cup of well blended tea,
For a tired soul to enliven his body.
It’s delicious taste and delicate fragrance,
Make it everyone’s lovesome buddy!
It’s a heavenly drink for the torpid minds,
A beverage brewed from the best of leaves.
A magic potion for the feverish lips,
Which in tiresome hours, everyone craves.
Sure, teatime is the most pleasant family time.
How we babble and burble over a cup of tea
Drawing people closer and cementing relations.
Certainly, it’s a time to look forward with glee.
Sit amongst fantastical words, cherish them, relish them, delight in them.
Live your dreams, love your soul,
be your most happy wild, real true self.
Live your truth, and utter it gladly, proudly, in poems, or stories or plays.
Be not afraid to throw your words onto a white paper carpet, painting them in clever ways, or silly ways, or deeply profound ways, fearing no one's response, fearlessly sharing yourself.
Share your word choices liberally with all kinds of folks, the ones who are inhibited, and shy and the others, who quickly get angry, and throw down their own words, trying to blast yours into outer space.
Be fearlessly unafraid.
Race into devious unknown shadows, flinging your words like twinkling stars into the ether.
Live your truth, and paint any poem you want.
Today could be your last day,
and this may be your last hurrah,
and the only thing saving you from
total extinction.
So write on my friend, write on!
always is not usually an appropriate word to use, it generalizes.
be cognizant of your tone of voice and your body language
creativity and courtesy are more important than anything else
do not hesitate to help a stranger
enthusiasm is welcome in most places
finish what you start and be flexible
gleefulness goes a long way if you are not making fun
happiness can be given away liberally
intelligence is not as important as ingenuity
joy is a journey, we can all grasp and seek
kindness is God’s gift to the world
love is the other gift we need to spread
memories pop up when you do not expect them
need a break? Your soul knows when to honor this feeling
optimism opens the world to your favor
powerful is the person who puts others first
quintessential humans have empathy
respect and responsibility are the signs of a leader
selflessness is a quality that the most brilliant admire
true to yourself, find your favorite things and do them
understanding others is easier if you know yourself first
victorious is the person who listens to their soul guides
willingness to show integrity is duly noted
‘xact is not as important as ‘xpecting the best from others
youth is not always youthful, as age is not always old
zest and zeal make your life worth living at this second.
Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy,
approximately 800 redundant pages
of Kafkaesque scoffing
at relentless banalities of economic and political elitists.
Rather like transcribing often inebriated conversations
within all-night insider celebrations
of a ProPlutocracy Party Convention
Or, sadly, a depressed weed-rant
at the end of a long defensive policy debate
among inter-religiously woke Democrats
longing for a win/win DanceParty Convention,
like in the good-old liberally bipartisan ballroom days
Only maybe about 400 condensed
impacted pages shorter
with the remainder quite unliterally
and anti-climatically inscrutable
as planned anti-ecological obsolescence
through mutually partisan assured destruction
Drinking and smoking
through organic Earth's rabidly dark night
denying and/or distracted
from synergetically addressing
our unwell-disorganizing Anthropocene
of epically AnthroNarcissistic
autocratic-monopolistic chaos
Adding nothing more useful
or healthy
or sacred
to Kafkaesque scoffing
at relentlessly drunk banalities
of economic and political elitists.
Come near,
so you can hear
Come near,
let me whisper life in your ear
Come close,
let me reveal a secret to you
The Garden of Eden is within your grasp,
reach out and taste the fruit
The fruit of the Spirit
is the divine food of holiness
It's the essence of God given to the blessed
Come taste the nectar of the fruit ---
Love:
it's the sweetest gift of God showered from above
Joy:
it's the baptism of happiness given to every girl and boy
Peace:
letting go of hurt and pain is the most gracious release
Longsuffering:
is the prince ... Tolerance is the queen ... Patience is the king
Gentleness:
is the parent of every tenderly given caress
Goodness:
are the godly children of sacred obedience
Faith:
is your beloved spouse, your beloved soulmate
Meekness:
increases your compassion, as the anger grows less
Temperance:
is your best friend with the twin named Abstinence
There is no law given
that can supercede any of these
If you desire the pleasure of holy living,
then eat of the fruit of the Spirit liberally
I confided with The Jeweler
I want a masterpiece
A wonder to the modern world
Where joy will never cease
He said he’d start with umber
A rich, golden shade of brown
use it from the very start
create a special crown
Next, sparkle from His diamonds
He used them from within
Distributed them quite liberally on
Her eyes, her smile, her skin
Oh yes she will be special
A jewel the world will love
treasure made with so much heart
They’ll know she’s from above
She shall be known as Ceci
Because she is to be
perfection of a young lady
like your sister is to Me
He said I know just what I’ll do
To make your crown the best
I have special method
Pulled from the family crest
There’s never been anything like her
nor will there ever be;
I’ve taken the spirit of her aunt
Your dear sister as you can see
You know she was quite special
That’s why I called her home
but I wanted you to be blessed
so praise Me with a poem
a tribute to My creation
a gift to all the world
although I blessed you with 2 boys
I gave you just one girl
I did one other special thing
To set this child apart
I gave her something special
A piece of The Jeweler’s heart
I have filled her with compassion
She will be the downtrodden’s friend
She will always be a guiding light
Yes this is who I will send
Sometimes at night, you will hear her
As you lay there in the dark
this lil' Gem sing Me praises
A gentle meadowlark
A champion for all children
Inspiring, encouraging all
She embarked upon this journey
She already heard my call
So always, treat her special,
let her know I care
you see she is My masterpiece
A jewel that is quite rare.
A tribute on her 17th Birthday
We have the right to freedom of speech and expression,
But we have NOT the right to use them for transgression.
A right is a privilege to be respected every time we use
And not as a platform to others, harass, insult, abuse.
So many are quick to claim their right to freedom of speech,
But don't give a second thought to how the right, they breach.
If one exercises their rights, they have also an obligation,
To use the rights responsibly, with respect and consideration.
We all don't have to the same, believe, think, like, or live,
But it's all of our duties to respect towards others, give.
If one uses their rights to antagonise, bully, or spread hatred,
They're abusing their rights and should have them confiscated.
If one cannot respect their rights, use them responsibly,
They don't deserve to have them, to abuse them liberally.
Disrespecting our rights is dishonouring those who gave,
Who sacrificed their lives, to our rights and freedoms, save.
So, if you're one of those who's disrespectful, with no class,
Who chooses to use your rights to bully, bash, harass,
Remember who/what you desecrate is despicable, at best;
A reflection of yourself; from others, likewise you request.
I say this to anyone who elects to abuse a right,
"Why don't YOU strap on combat boots and fight;
Put YOUR life on the line, a place of living hell,
And see how YOU would like then, disrespect as well."
Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2016-05-21 14:46:00 (EST)
All rights reserved.
The skillet hung near the old wood-burning kitchen stove.
Aside from her family, Mom considered it a special trove.
With that blackened old pan she prepared delicious repasts,
That in my judicious opinion will ne'er be surpassed!
Ah, just to recall the tasty grub stewed up in that old skillet!
How it tingled my taste buds just sliding down my gullet!
The chicken, steaks and chops in that old pan she did fry,
Evoked oohs and aahs and many a contented sigh!
She liberally dolloped lard in the pan 'til she had it just right,
Then concocted stews, soups and fried taters for our delight!
Mom was never concerned about such things as saturated fat,
Or life-threatening cholesterol and such things as that!
I suppose medicos today would have a conniption fit,
If they knew of the dietary sins my Mom did commit.
She must've done something right - her spouse lived past ninety-four.
Her kids outlived the odds, each reaching four score years or more!
Self-anointed wizards deem cast iron skillets detrimental to our health,
But I think they're just peddling new fads to add to their wealth!
My dear spouse uses her old iron skillet most every day.
I feel fit as a banjo regardless of what so-called experts may say!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
When I was a mere lad, my Dad always cut my hair,
But as I reached my teens and became much more debonair,
To the bald-headed barber I whizzed in my old hometown,
Seated myself in his chair and plopped my quarter down!
I had never been a paying client at a barber shop before,
So I asked about that red, white and blue pole spinning by the door.
Said he, "It was a sign for barbers doing surgery in the olden day!"
At that I gulped, almost choked and turned a sickly gray!
Done with my hair, he'd shave my neck and brush on lots of powder,
And liberally douse my scalp with Vitalis - I couldn't have been prouder!
His shop reeked of pungent oils and stale tobacco smoke,
It was all I could do to sit there, trying to stifle a choke!
The town barber shop was a place to gossip and hear inane babble,
And was the local hangout for ne'er-do-wells and other idle rabble.
The risque banter invading my naive and delicate ears,
Gave me an education far beyond my tender years!
The tales I heard were of the local women, booze and such.
Though I had some inkling, I didn't understand all that much!
Had my dear devout Mother known what transpired there,
I suspect she would've insisted that Dad continue to clip my hair!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved