Best Muzzle Poems
On the muzzle of the cat- in my bed lying,
When he looked at me, appears a smile:-
"Although a distant - I'm relative of a lion,
And you just an ape, as a science define."
I remember growing up,
I mean when I was very small
I was not a bad girl at all.
But Mom and Dad raised me to never speak my mind,
To be a liar if need be, to get along with humankind.
It was a boring childhood indeed.
I did not know it was Ok to be me till I was at least nineteen.
The freedom that brought!
Something I had always quietly sought.
It did not mean to be obnoxious,
Though no matter what, you have to get this.
Some people will find you toxic.
you just leave them be and find others like you.
People unafraid of the truth.
Some thinking life is their carnival booth.
They obviously have not read human history.
Some pretty, some far from nice, not a mystery.
Just find truth seekers just like you.
Even Shakespeare knew, life has a problem or two.
So in my poetry I write about all aspects I see in life,
Don't read me. It may cause you strife!
On the other hand, pain also brings laughter.
I won't muzzle my mouth, not ever.
I am not dead.
And we are not living in a pristine hereafter.
Just walk away, quietly.
The world full of friends,most assuredly.
Who will love you as is!
And that's a gift, my friends!
You are not in this world,
To live up to others expectations.
Fly Freedom Airlines day and night.
And show us your innermost light.
5/28/2019
10am PSt
Above my hearth rests a muzzle loader I know not how old.
Ah, could it speak, what adventurous tales to be told!
Oft I've caressed it and pondered time and again,
About where it was made and who its owners might have been!
Lewis and Clark may have used it in their daring odyssey,
To carry out Jefferson's dream and quest for Manifest Destiny!
Could it have been shouldered by Dan'l Boone, that hardy pioneer,
In his exploration of Kentucky to expand the western frontier?
Could it have reposed above the hearth of a humble cabin abode,
Ever ready to keep at bay whatever peril may have bode?
I'm sure it was used by a father with all his skill and ardor,
To provide provender for his family's ever scanty larder!
Perhaps it was fired by a Yank or Reb clashing upon the field of strife,
Brother against brother, bent on sending the other to eternal life!
Mayhaps a grizzled mountain man of the Rocky Mountain west,
Toted it in his quest for beaver fur of which he was obsessed!
Maybe it was aboard a Conestoga wagon pulled by plodding teams,
And carried by a man heading west to fulfill his family's dreams!
I suppose I could attach to it any fanciful tale I might choose,
But about its ancient and mysterious past I much prefer to muse!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
dizzying array of situations...with which to contend
time...that old adversary... has it's way
but it can even mend
moments can quite puzzle
so written words my friend
become my metaphorical muzzle
A Life Hit
ThIt was a life hit,
A one after the other:
For first, there was the coma,
And just the idea of it
To struggle with, but then,
Afterwards my eyesight smudged
Spaces, altered them, imposed
Textures, shapes and colors.
This was diagnosed
(A complication from my coma)
As Charles Bonnet syndrome.
Hmmm...
Tough call for an artist —
Already dealing with proliferative
retinopathy, and its dozen laser
eye treatments nearly destroying
all peripheral vision —
Poor fellow, Charles,
Having such a legacy, a hard hit;
It challenged me to need
To learn to draw all over again,
Like a child turning the pages
Of instruction books.
When
I drew portraits, I’d put in three
Eyes and not see it until told.
Actually
There came quite much laughing
At the perceptions from the hit,
Which involve voids in vision —
Something the brain will not
Accept and so it fills in, often
Humorously (I’d say) —
Hmmm...
Funny brain. I’ll never forget
One day, re-learning to draw dogs
And after staring at photos
Of pups for more than an hour,
How I looked up from my sketches
To watch the news,
Only to see every newscaster
And interviewed expert now
Had a long, hairy muzzle
And floppy ears.
Hmmm...
Finally a life hit
That could go with a bucket of
buttered popcorn.
————————————————————-
(c) sally young Eslinger 5/2021
Thanks be to God
it stayed in the chamber cause the safety was on
never ripping through the barrel, the target left unharmed
couldn't smell the sulphur or see the muzzle flash
you should have aimed more carefully if you wanted it to last
you got to feel the excitement of the live round in the chamber
standing in the little booth surrounded by the danger
you got to hear the click and the noise from those up close
but your aim was never good at what was next to you
the switch pulls in your target, without a single hit
nothing dead on center or even a near miss
you won't win a trophy or ever enjoy the prize
cause you were in a hurry and let it all speed by
muzzle memories
past moments lived
not allowing them
to escape into
consciousness
stopping them
from invading the
current state of
well being
not allowing them
to cause a ripple
affect within the
sea of the soul
breaking the clam
waters that have
settled down after
time spent in silence