Best More Often Than Not Poems
Someone near and dear to me
Has a child with Downs Syndrome,
Who, more often than not
Is beyond difficult to control.
The little boy is six years old
But acts as if he’s two,
He can’t speak at all, just yells a lot
Throwing wild tantrums until he’s blue.
He likes throwing things around
As if everything’s a toy,
And has difficulty distinguishing
Between bad behavior and pure, ecstatic joy.
(And his mother is a nervous wreck,
always picking up after the boy).
His fingers are his eyes at times
As textures are his friends,
If he doesn’t like the way it feels
He won’t go there again.
And he likes to lay down on the ground
Balling up like a boulder,
Until someone comes to pick him up
While he gives them his cold shoulder.
It’s difficult to fully describe
All the nuances of this child,
The range of his emotions
From anger and sadness to his beautiful, blissful smile.
(And his mother is a nervous wreck,
walking many lonely miles).
They wonder about his future
And those around him always near,
And wonder how much happiness
Will follow him through the years.
Will he learn to play an instrument
Or dance and sing a song,
Is it possible he will marry someday
Will true love come along?
Will he find friends who will love him
And treat him sweet and kind,
Or only those who will shun him
And close him off like blinds.
(And his mother is a nervous wreck,
And losing her own mind.
His mother is a nervous wreck
And loves him
All the time).
© Terrell Martin, 02/26/2025
Winter is approaching.
I feel it in my floorboards; in my baseboards;
in every nook and cranny.
I wait to be filled again at this time of Thanksgiving, and
As I wait, sounds of the past linger in my consciousness:
The excited moans of the men and of the women (some of whose
first introduction to me came from being carried across my threshold)
as they lay close together in their bed late at night;
The strange incessant wailing of babies that later arrived -
wailing that later changed, more often than not, into squeals of glee.
Some of the families I sheltered engulfed me with heaviness.
In those years, I was assaulted by loud shouting,
much like the barking of dogs from outside.
Those shouts were often met by shrill hysterical screams
or even by the sad sobs of children.
One sound stays with me like a ghost: the quiet weeping
of one lone occupant who held a gun to his head.
In an instant I felt his blood splatter against my walls.
I prefer to remember the touch of the children:
their small smudged fingers exploring my kitchen cupboards;
their tiny warm bodies scooting across my tiles.
On one unusual occasion, a child scribbled happily
on my bathroom walls with bright Crayola colors.
After the explosion of his mother’s angry words,
the bathroom was transformed, and with magic paper
a small part of me was wearing the figures of gold and purple fish.
Forty times or more I’ve been left; then re-inhabited.
Several times I’ve been overhauled: my carpet torn out, a new one laid;
my doors and my fixtures changed for modern ones;
my furnace and my pipes (even once a ceiling) - all replaced.
But lately, I’ve felt so weary, and even renovated, I’m feeling out of place.
Just last month as I was emptied and cleaned for the umpteenth time,
I heard the newest landlord tell his wife:
We won’t have to put up with this crap anymore -
not after we get the offer from those guys who want to build a mall.
I wonder what he meant. My heat and water both have been cut off for so long.
Usually a couple is here by now. But only silence echoes through my halls,
and I’m growing so very cold.
1) Treat others the way you'd have them treat you.
Whatever you dish out comes right back at you.
2) Don't talk about what you don't know first hand,
And keep most that you know to yourself, contraband.
3) Don't take another into confidence,
Most gossip is spread through this type of pretense.
4) When you DO one a favor, it's a GIFT that you GAVE.
When you GET a favor, it's a DEBT to be PAID.
5) Your children won't listen to what you have to say.
They'll watch what you do and then they'll live that way.
6) Children don't do what you tell them to do.
They watch your actions and learn them from you.
7) Remember that neighbors watch people, it's true.
If they're watching others, they're watching you too.
8) Don't expect more of others than you're willing to give.
Remember these words, it's a good way to live.
9) Don't do anything that could be questioned later.
Don't do what you don't want to read in the paper.
10) Never hang out with a questionable crowd.
What they do in secret will be broadcast out loud.
11) In questions of will or questions of won't,
Remember this well, if there's doubt, then don't.
I hope that these words give you pause, give you thought,
And I hope they're remembered more often than not.
It's really no more than just good common sense,
Read you Bible and pray and stay away from pretense.
Some folks will say that he's just a hound,
But no finer dog could ever be found.
I have to admit that a hound's hard to train,
But that's just because he must first grow a brain.
He's so happy-go-lucky and such a real tease.
He's so full of love and desires just to please;
But he gets into trouble more often than not,
'Cause he's curious of nature and gets into a lot.
The things that he does shows an active mind.
He just has to mature, he just needs some time,
To show the intelligence inate in his breed.
He's tenacious and brave, this is his creed.
He can find any trail that he's set upon.
Just give him the scent and then he is gone.
He won't give up until he's caught his prey,
And you'll know where to find him by his noted bay.
You don't want to lose him, he's not something you lend.
He's your dog, he's your buddy, He's your best friend.
You can look high and low but his like can't be found.
There ain't no such animal as this dog "just-a-hound".
My life has been adventurous and very far from mundane,
Though at times I've held the short end of the stick, to my disdain.
If there was any dirty work or heavy lifting to be done,
Guess who had to do it? Yep - I was usually the one!
Even as a kid I usually received the short end of the stick.
Guess who in choosing sides was usually the last one to pick!
When teachers asked for raised hands for our knowledge to grill,
Guess who was never called upon to display his cognitive skill!
In the service I had more than my share of onerous KP.
Guess who scrubbed pots and pans? Yep - it was usually me!
I made myself scarce when bodies for guard duty were needed;
Guess whose plea of inconvenience with the Sarge went unheeded!
I never volunteered for anything in the service - that was taboo,
But Sarge always said, "I want you and you and guess who!"
At times when drilling, the Sarge I didn't always endear.
Guess who he chewed on to get in step, gnawing on my ear!
I'm a little wiser as I near the end of life's treacherous trail.
Some still try to hand me short shrift but more often than not they fail!
When I was much younger, such things I really did deplore,
But now I've mellowed somewhat and it doesn't bother me anymore!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
What is beauty?
Is it only shown on the
outside or is it embedded
beneath the skin?
Many might only see beauty
as what they can see with
their eyes, thus they make
assumptions as to how
beautiful something is, which
is often foolish.
But some see it both ways
thus creating a clearer
form of what they consider
beautiful.
Mistakes can be made by
judging something by its
cover, like the simple
picking of a rose but its thorns
prick your skin almost unexpectedly
causing pain and blood to seep out.
Beauty is something so complicated
that many fail to understand the
word; they are blinded by cruel
and immoral definitions that become
seeded into the mind thus creating
a false and depraved image that only
becomes the meaning of ugliness.
Beauty is not always on the surface
but more often than not hidden beneath,
like one’s soul; it can’t be seen but
it's known to be there.
If one can see past the
incomplete image that the human
mirror reflects, beauty becomes
apparent to all; untarnished
and pure.
Sometimes, I find myself on a battleground
in the present or in sieges from the distant past
It may be a war I've been waging within myself,
a thorn that needs plucking so that I might heal
I wear no crown, nor do I wish to be gowned
in regal robes and sit upon a throne looking down
on anyone. For me, those things hold no appeal
I am rebellious against the many wrongs I've seen
and if you think it's mean of me to feel that way—
You don't know me well enough to pass judgement
With regret, I've been the cause of an Angel's weeping
when down a misguided path I chose to walk
Mistakes? I've made my share of them, maybe more
but I've always tried to amend my faults in some way
Indemnity is not always reimbursed with coin
More often than not, my tears the price to pay
Sometimes, even I have not found the sentience of it—
things I do; emotions I feel. No reason as to why except
that I am compelled without restraint or prudence to try
I refute the need to live by the creed of the golden rule—
for only a fool would claim the world is a righteous place
where smug faces play fair in games of love and war
If I am defeated, I never hesitate to stand again
for I've always despised the thought of white flags
and retreating like a coward again and again, in sad refrain
I garner resilience and strength from every enemy I meet
and in defeat, my stratagem sharpens much keener
I am not a warrior; that's not the path I want to take
I've been storm tossed in seas of turbulent weather
When faced with animosity, I will not shiver and quake
Offered silk or suit of armor— I prefer a softer demeanor
Self-professed I am supple of breast
Heart not crafted from leather
From flesh, blood and bone
Of the gender called woman
I was not chiseled from stone
Everybody bears a price tag
Claim tycoons with bottomless purses
With a plethora of dollars to flash and flag
About to entice simpletons who deem their lives struck by curses
Inserted in their DNA
Generations ago
Which render them incapable to shove away
Bets of cash their stricken spines can’t forgo
While stomachs groan and lips
Demand smartphones, mascaras and lipsticks
Deployed to slay chaps with wanton whips
That cut and slice with savage kicks
On pates gone wan with insomnia
As limousine driven juggernauts
Splurge huge wads of notes to catalyze mass hysteria
Among street corner astronauts
Whose flight to Cupid exoplanet
Fell on its face
As moral worth net
They chose to suppress
In the face of perennial penury
That nibbles homesteads bereft of meals
In January
When cash overloaded sovereigns strike asymmetric deals
In which they beat down the cashless
Unless the poor rebuff cash offers
Preferring the famine and thirst the voiceless
Endure twenty four seven cos their coffers
Cash they’ve never seen
Cos fate shifted the balance of resources in favour of the few
Who more often than not turn out mean
To taunt the poor who shift on a church pew
As a tycoon blurts, ‘There’s a price tag on you
The sooner you acknowledge the reality
The better your world will enliven anew
As on you my bucks bestow and restore dignity in humility.’
~Broken~??
I know you've been broken
More often than not
But try rising again
and forgetting all about your hurtful past
spread your wings and fly
like an eagle-soar above the storm up high
Then those who left you broken
shall slap themselves in regret
Because then
They'll realize you were born to be great
Be afraid not of the storm
For ahead lies the calm
Feeling hurt, discomfort with other’s demeanor
More often than not
I crawl into silence promptly
More often than not
I brush off true feeling
More often than not
I dismiss my ache
More often than not
Giving permission for their behavior to replay
From Today Onwards
forevermore
Say "thank you, I accept your apology"
forevermore
Honor my innermost feelings
forevermore
Set boundary for emotional limits
forevermore
Create a greater sense of harmony in relationship
forevermore
Accepting their request for forgiveness
Beaten and Battered
Still standing tall
I'm not the being I was before I took my great fall
They said don't stand to the wind
no you shouldn't dare
sometimes the wind will caress you but most of the time she doesn't care
She held me close
but intensified with a loving quiet rage
the wind she's like that, her intentions often hard to gauge
She's always there
she'll whisper and let you know
more often than not she's there for a moment then must go
She left part of me standing, the rest shattered on the forest floor
She's much more powerful, so she let me know
Because here I stand broken, never again to be whole
honey, you are not responsible for the skeletons hidden in his closet.
rinse. repeat.
you are not responsible for the bones threatening to spill out.
he can call you a doll and watch your cheeks redden,
but honey,
you are only a doll because he has taken hold of your strings.
you are not his marionette doll,
not a circus attraction
with his name on the door.
honey, he is not the ringleader.
has no one told you, you aren’t
responsible for taking apart his ribcage and fitting yourself beside his heart;
that you are not responsible for the emptiness you find there.
he can kiss you sweetly and fill you with butterflies,
but no one told you that butterflies turn into bees.
and honey, more often than not,
they sting.
Each New Year, you make a resolution,
Nothing life-changing, just minor changes.
January means a brand new start for
Optimists who wish themselves a better
Year ahead: vowing to improve their lot.
Little changes are often accomplished:
Inasmuch as they least affect your life.
For instance, eating meals at the table
Every night: not in front of the TV.
More often than not, you'll fail to honor,
Or maintain those hasty New Year's pledges.
Resolutions won't change reality:
Even if hope promises that they will.
Each New Year, we pretend to undergo
Various metamorphoses that we
Equate to achieving our New Year's goals:
Resolute in our desire to succeed.
Yesterday sets, as tomorrow rises.
Don't fret over your annoying habits:
After all, no one's perfect, and in time,
You'll learn to enjoy life more, come what may.
Always prepare for the unexpected, as more often than not the unexpected will happen.
Always have a plan B, even better a plan C.
Quote by Poet.
I was heading into Death Valley to
deliver drums of oil to the research
station, a trip that I took every month,
our haulage firm called it the 'Hades run'.
The forecast was 129°f for that day,
all was going well when disaster struck,
a front tyre had blown and I swerved off
the road, Blast it I thought It’s all I need.
I reached for the cab radio that crackled
and then went dead and I cursed my luck.
An hour went by then two, I was beginning
to panic, no other soul on that lonely road.
Then the air-conditioning packed up and
the temperature rose in the cab and I got
out quick and into the shade under the truck,
and drank the two bottles of water that I had.
Six hours had now passed and I was struggling,
the heat was unbearable and I realised I’d
probably die.I thought I was dreaming when I
heard a voice shout, "Hey Buddy you okay there".
Words prance down onto a napkin, a slip of paper, a receipt, a sticky note
Willful words, led by whom? I doubt it is me; I would like to rest sometimes.
Yet, writing insists on her own way – in the car, a restaurant, at a ball game.
Poetry is something that comes naturally to some of us.
Insisting on her own way, throwing herself onto a computer screen.
In my case, she has a will greater than my own. I cannot slow her down.
I cannot dissuade her or entice her to bother someone else.
It is me she is after. She wakes me up with an ending line.
Not daily, but more often than not. It is up to me to honor her wishes.
She is my task master, my instructor, my muse, my power house.
Her words form into a secret surprise, every single time.
I never know where she is going to end up. She rules me.
I write because I cannot NOT write.
Poetry is an outlet for my creativity that makes me happy.
She inspires me, treats me, and treasures me.
I am her puppet.