Best Merited Poems
Like an interrupted dream
shadows of the one
who inspired it
linger like morning dew.
No aroma and no taste,
yet I'm left breathless,
as thoughts reminisce.
I listen to this tired heart,
as one deep breath results
in a thousand sighs and
I don't want to be found,
but yearn to understand
why I feel like a million
crumpled stars, silently
sprinkled like paint drops
protecting the moon,
feeling like glue holding
the universe together
and who am I to disturb it?
Her beauty was a merited gift.
Her departure unnecessary.
Her lips without speaking
could rewrite history
and I wonder
can she hear these sighs?
Her call is the one I want
to answer for eternity.
To speak until no words remain.
Give until there is nothing -
submitting to her submission
is life's greatest victory.
Twilight aurora,
night flower of this heart,
you shine in emerald velvet
hues in shades of scarlet.
Like a rainbow, your presence
brightened the horizons.
but just like the stars you
disappeared with daylight -
your absence leaving
behind blackness.
Don’t use special characters!
In writing I was told,
Next to the title of my poem.
(The letters black and bold.)
“Poems Don’t Have to Rhyme,” is what
I chose to name my piece,
But with this title, what I wrote
The site would not release.
For only letters, numbers, dashes,
Commas are allowed;
Apostrophes and colons, too,
Are welcomed in that crowd.
I looked back at my heading
And I didn’t understand
Exactly how it merited
That tyrant-like command.
I had to change my title –
It’s called “Poems” now on my list,
But someone messing with my words
Makes me feel awfully pissed.
When I hear the sound of "Taps" on Memorial Day,
Or hear that plaintive tune when a veteran is laid away,
I try to remain stoical but am easily moved to tears,
As I recall the sacrifices of heroes throughout the years.
Valiant men suffered hardships at their posts in Valley Forge,
To win our nation's independence from resolute King George.
Stalwart men died in the War of 1812 and at the historic Alamo,
To sustain our precious freedoms - so much to them we owe!
The Civil War upheld the Union, tho' much needless blood was shed.
'Twas during that awful conflict that "Taps" was born, 'tis said.
Since its genesis, its haunting tune is yet heard o'er the graves,
Of heroes who sacrificed their all to ensure our flag yet waves!
They served with honor to defend the liberties we hold dear,
And to preserve dignity for others around this troubled sphere,
Giving all on the Altar of Honor for mankind's follies to atone.
Alas, in return, all they merited was a simple marble stone.
Sadly, most every day we hear that melancholy strain,
Echoing across the nation from hills and verdant plain.
As a grateful nation gathers to bid each a sad goodbye,
Parents, spouses and children are left to wonder - WHY!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Daddy was… I don’t even remember but he wasn’t there
I don’t even remember why you were so angry
I got back home that night and my dog was lying in front of the garage
AT NIGHT in front of the garage!
I dial the keypad to get in the house but the door was locked and you took the key from its place so I couldn’t get in
I rang the doorbell
Knocked on the door
Rang the doorbell
Knocked on the door
But I didn’t make a scene
I carried my dog to the door on the fence, climbed over the fence, let my dog in and looked through the sliding glass door
You were asleep
I’m very happy for everybody that the sliding glass door wasn’t locked
I get inside and noticed you were passed out drunk!
The Grey Goose revealed it all
I kissed my dog goodnight, gave him a treat and BOUNCED
With YOUR keys and YOUR car
I’m so fed up I’m just SO fed up
The Bible says honor thy mother and father it doesn’t mention son and daughter
BOLOGNA if you ask me
NO child begged to be a part of this planet!
What does honor mean anyway?
Webster says merited respect… okay so maybe it’s not bologna!
I canNOT stop replaying my past
You are still here!
You are from the past!
I have let go but when you dig it up and throw it in my face
I pick it back up!
I try to be strong
I really do and EVERYONE notices I’ve made great improvements
You’re one of the people who’s praised me!
I’ve been having these occasional fluttering sensations in my heart for the past few years that I’ve mentioned to you recently
I still haven’t gone to the doctor
Neither of us will forget that time I was crying on the phone to Linnel about the two guys raping my semiconscious body and you busted in my room and said, “I hope your p____ fall’s off”
I can’t forget that time I confided in you about an unusual discharge and you said, “I’m just gonna let you suffer…”
Thanks for eventually taking me to go get tested but why did you have to say that?
I felt bad enough
Very true, Mom, I don’t have any friends…
I’m not even sure if I’m in excellent health and that I’ll make it many more years
Still, while I’m here
I just want to be able to help my people… somehow
Many a poet I know a fool
acting like they know-it-all
many a poet I know a tool
acting like "Mr Poet-all"
unknowingly showing me
their knowledge of poetry
has boundaries surrounding
ideas rebounding around
their impounded grounds
only seeing the same repeatedly
nothing new unfortunately
forever under lock and key
belittling anything new they see.
As a poet I'm not especially traditional
more so "special" writing additional
my raw and new to poetry style
unlike those into poetry awhile
so can I now pick the thoughts
of a traditional poet know-it-all
I believe to be caught in restriction walls
appearing to parrot what taught in schools
see if I perceive conviction in their cause
or robotic perspective their memory stores
too Inspect credentials for signs set in stone
content or unambitious toward the unknown
should I see respect or a moody moan
for new styles outside their own zone
Seemingly their priority is to teach all to try to be
writing unoriginally prevent the mind think free
in a strictly stricken view I see crippling you
never trying new or seeking something else to do
you have regulations on how creativity is written
preventing inspiration thus so negatively driven
speculating with unchallenged repetition
as though been tutored to a limit
you're now failing to ascend merited
having starved all but within it.
So please respect my detected inclination at play
but poetry is a creative artform not set in its ways
and those paved paths you pace and wear thin
were once unpaved before their now adored placing
so shouldn't a creative artform progress and not stay there
wouldn't it go on new quests paving unpaved or
invent realise and find in amaze ways new spaces
not be assigned a confined station like railways
instead seek to new roads or train to fly the skies
cus a closed off mind concealed in a cocoon
denies the butterfly wings the room
like a inverted narrow mind blinds clues
let's preserve and branch from the lay of the track
if poetry stays then poetry slacks but if adapts
poetry won't wear weak crumble and crack
recycling the same will only sink in to the black
I don't want to conform to the common or normal
because I see it as a creative short fall.
So why refuse new styles when you could embrace all poetry?
are you a poet or are you a phoney?
Written: February 3rd, 2024
________________________________________
Existence for him,
should be the shivering,
a fantastic cymbal beat,
beaten with a firm stick,
then, at the time of closing,
all the lights are turned off,
there is no soundtrack at all,
and destiny struck,
vacuous vaudeville
eternity is a halted horn,
and yesterday, a tumbler of spirit,
drunken long ago.
I sit tree-side every night,
anger, grief, and key loss
I wait, hoping someone cares,
I realize nobody will ever come
I sat by the weeping willow,
Its lushness and gloom calm me,
tears fuel my restless dreams
still, my aloofness is illusory
I didn't grasp when it started
I had no friends or affection,
my heart broke and rotted
my echt days are gone,
I'm weary of crying and aching,
smiling, they toss me a chair and cord,
they feign to care for a while
and shut the doors to lie by the bay
their dismay while I live,
how do they pardon my curse?
their love scenes are fake.
Why must I suffer?
why is finding my tears a chore?
have I merited this?
what can I do to delight you?
allow this to conclude,
love me or befriend me
let this misery cease soon,
nights I weep, days I feign,
I bestow joy with my words
why can't I relax and relish?
why do you often depress me?
you don't care as much as others
You're teasing me from above,
I recognize I'll never improve,
I have no love or paradise,
let's hope for the best,
Isolation is a long path to hell,
my life isn't awful, but no one calls,
I may stay as hate sweeps the earth,
stay with my weeping willow.
As if increased girth ~ merited self-worth
The Gospel
So many feel the gospel turns them away
I hope you truly don't feel this way
The opposite is true and that's a fact
The gospel is here to bring us back
Instead of feeling condemnation's sin
Look at the love that abides within
All have sinned even the very best
There is none better than all the rest
None of us has to die in sin's decay
For God himself has revealed the way
Our salvation is not based on what man
can acquire
The gospel, for who obey, is God's redeeming power
It is God, His Son, and his great love for us
Who only, in his grace, can make us just
The sacrifice, death, burial, and resurrection true
Has provided salvation for all, including me and you
God gave his heart, His only begotten Son
The Son gave his life, for it all to be done
The Spirit calls our hearts to his
saving grace
So you and I can abide in that
heavenly place
Forgiveness is purchased by the shedding
of blood
Being only merited by God's great love
What must I do to be saved was asked
that day
As the Philippian jailor fell on his knees
to pray
Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ came the answer sure
Such wonderful words were heard for our sins the cure
Turning to God from our sins: from pride to humility
With faith in Jesus Christ who will save for all eternity
So open that heart and ask him to save and to forgive
And feel the burden lifted as His life in you is lived
No one is excluded from God's mercy as others may say
All who will be saved is included when one bows to pray
To obey the gospel is to hear God's true and powerful voice
Whether or not you listen and heed is your power of choice
So, if you refuse God's love and his saving grace
You've excluded yourself to enter hell's horrible place
He suffered, he died, and he arose again to save our soul
If we would repent and believe and let him make us whole
He shed his blood, he paid the price - why would you condemn
For if we reject his love and his way - how can we accuse him?
Why must life be such a complex endeavor
Always pressing in upon the seeking heart
Making every day a hard-earned victory, or
A resounding defeat, an open or closed door?
It is the middle ground we seek, the placidity
Smooth flowing pleasures that bring us joy
Calmness prevailing in times of bitter feast
Words which deliver us to peace and serenity.
At the end of every day being able to speak
Of the day gone as time well-spent, well-lived,
Words of gratitude merited by a good deed
Humility earned, not seen a sign of the weak
Expecting the best of everyone around us
The simple life embracing morality we seek.
written July 9, 2021
Oh dreaded parasitic predator,
I yield to your flitting whim
and unannounced intrusion.
Innocently productive,
you carry on your quest,
unprovoked and unassuming.
But for your merited renown,
I take preemptive action
testifying to my regard.
The sport of a cautious hunt
prompts instinct and evasion,
no match for a well-aimed swat.
And with your final writhing twitch
I find a kind of sovereign triumph
in my gleeful, gloating grin.
"Hyar she comes! The weekly stagecoach is a-comin' to old Santa Fe!"
The driver cracked his whip and blowed his klaxon to herald the way!
The weekly arrival of the stagecoach was cause fer raucous celebration!
The town's ne'er-do-wells found another excuse fer excess inebriation!
The excited citizens one and all awaited its arrival with bated breath,
To see and greet the motley rogues brought to town by the driver, Seth!
Seth descended from his perch midst snarlin' curs and guttersnipes,
Gun-totin' hangers-on, genteel ladies, the sheriff and other sundry types.
Grizzled Seth cut loose a stream of cussin' and in a furious rage,
Yelled, "You'uns clear the way and let them people git off'n the stage!"
His bedraggled passengers set foot on the dusty streets of old Santa Fe,
Happy to be relieved of the stagecoach's nauseous lurch and sway!
The Baptist Ladies Guild gasped when down stepped a lady of the night,
But she was greeted by the fellers of Buster's Saloon with a cry of delight!
Next was a feller all dressed in black scannin' the crowd with a gloomy glower.
He was a preacher-man causin' fellers from Buster's Saloon to cringe and cower!
A steely-eyed dude with 44s on his hips viewed the mob with condescension,
But his shifty manner put the sheriff on alert and merited his attention!
Down stepped a foppish dandy wearin' diamonds and dressed in fine attire.
He was a gamblin' man aimin' to see how much town capital he might acquire!
Seth hollered, "All aboard! I gotta git to Albuquerq' by six tonight!"
He whipped his steeds to a gallop and soon old Santa Fe was outta sight!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
I’ve written rhyming verses and sonnets by the score;
I’ve written a hundred lyrics and inside me there are more,
But nothing that I’ve written has ever merited me fame,
And yet I keep on writing with a passion just the same.
Last night in my dreams dead poets came to visit me;
They gathered all around to discuss my poetry.
They said, “You’ll never be a poet – you haven’t lived enough pain;
Your life is full of sunshine; you haven’t drowned in sorrow’s rain”.
I woke up feeling empty, having to face a harsh reality;
The passion harbored inside is only passionate to me.
Then I finally realized that I am a lucky man,
I would rather have lived a life of sunshine than be a poet who’s broken.
Happy 5th birthday have you accepted rape into your life,
It's a patriarchal practice built from sadism and male strife,
A hedonistic ritual to keep us all under control,
The birthright of masculinity bestowed upon all men young and old,
They'll decry our institution of commercialized fear funded by the tax payer's dime,
But don't let them hide the irrevocable fact that their gender alone commits crime,
Just listen to their protests of our paranoia and self-destructive delusions,
Wielding weapons of statistics the opposition seeks to incite societal confusion,
Be wary of their minstrels reciting chants for equality,
Brace yourself against the trollish foot soldiers' brutal tactics of social media skullduggery,
Be mindful my child the only knights in your life should be white,
Not those racist, misogynistic, patriarchal, bigoted, transphobic, ableist , MRA troglodytes,
The worst of their scum are the generals leading the charge from the courts and Youtube channels,
Polluting governmental positions on the discriminatory grounds of merited credentials,
Debunking "fact" after "fact" of our beloved ideology,
Do they really think my feelings are superseded by rationality,
It is imperative my children not to be deceived our greatest enemies come from within our own ranks,
So called "women" who strive to be their best denying any notion of a patriarchal state,
Just because they became successful doesn't mean all other womyn can be,
Your hard-earned accomplishments poison our minds with absurd notions of individuality,
They don't realize that womyn are oppressed everywhere,
Deemed worthless by society unless they're in the kitchen with a baby in tow,
Unable to walk outside without a male escort and deprived the right to vote,
Yes that may be in Saudi Arabia but we Western womyn are just as oppressed too,
Through the hashtag "yesallwomen" we can count ourselves among the downtrodden and render all naysayers moot,
Us feminists will not stand for this institutionalized patriarchy,
We demand the dismantling of this hateful misogynistic army,
To pave the way for our lord and savior Hillary Clinton.
Literature was pursued
by the greatest individuals who ever lived,
and they left us works of unsurpassable wisdom;
human emotions have always been the same,
and this can't attest to the fact that they will not change anytime soon,
but the freer we are, the further we go up in our balloon.
The richest heritage of Humankind
is found in the written word, which is heard often and not really understood;
where would we be today without the plays and sonnets of Shakespeare that were quite sad,
or Dante's famous canto, not excluding superb works by modern writers?...
During the dark ages, monks translated books from Greek and Latin into common languages;
as the barbarians destroyed everything found in their path, civilization did not end.
Tragedies of famous people attracted the lucrative minds of poets who had heard of them,
thus embellishing them with their vivid imagination and present actual facts...I follow in
their poetic footsteps, writing down stories that have recently happened, or occurred
before I was born; and with ideas as interesting as theirs, I continue in that tradition
without envying their unaging expressions and distinguished style, but by aggrandizing them.
Literature has finally found its merited place in History, unlikely a hundred years ago,
more people are voraciously reading, and keeping the writers busy by admiring
their sensational works, making comments of encouragement to boost up their optimism;
and to theaters they go and spent an entire night to listen to drama and satire...to scoff,
laugh, or cry when emotions intensify by the sconces of the electric lights; and cheering,
they applaud the richest heritage of Humankind on stage, and are captivated by its scenario.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
I try to get inside your head and snoop
around a bit. I see common folk around,
most are decent, alone or in a group.
Most can look you in the eye and not bound
to stare you down or contest a bit of ground
unless their child or life be threatened. They go
to work, do their jobs, pay their bills and sound
no alarms unless they are really merited. And so
I'm curious as to what makes you tick.
At what point in your life were you capable
of sending innocents to their death. What trick
did you pick up that makes you so able
to ignore the casualties. How do you sleep?
Do you hear the screams? Do you ever weep?