Best Ninety Four Poems
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A thing of beauty on her wrist
was confiscated by a nurse
who looked for items soldiers missed
in places (and by means) much worse.
They branded her inside the camp,
a thing of beauty on her wrist
replaced by Hitler's horrid stamp,
a stinging band below her fist.
With teeming glee, Frau nurse had hissed,
"Thank me that you won't see the baths"
A thing of beauty on HER wrist
the gleaming fee of psychopaths
Now, she who bears the mark of war
lives free and wears her scar not with
remorse. It's more, at ninety-four,
a thing of beauty on her wrist...
========================
With a fresh cup of coffee, I stepped outside to have a peek.
It was another peaceful morning, in the valley around Soup Creek.
I caught the glint of a Winchester, a model ninety-four.
It was across the lap of Jenna, just outside the saloon door.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Jan sneaking to the loo.
I could hear her spurs were jingling as she went to take a poo.
In the saloon I heard some laughter, it was Milt just having fun.
At a table dealing stud, a gamblers game is never done.
At the other end of the street, there stood Tania with watchful eyes.
With a pistol on each hip, she was ready for any surprise.
Down by the livery stable was a Texas ranger by the name of Dave.
He was looking for our mayor, who he thought was digging a grave.
There was a rumor of riders coming, and the Creek might be in a bind.
He searched both high and low, but sir Tom he could not find.
Ten miles south of town, with graves dug all around.
Tom had stopped these riders and saved our hallowed ground.
Start Sleuthing Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Natasha L Scragg
8/21/22
Sung to the melody of when I’m 64 by The Beatles
Gotta keep working an extra few years
(Not like years ago)
Governments are screwing us for every dime
I can’t afford a bottle of wine
Hip's been replaced
Yes I’m getting old
I’m too old to twerk
But I’m so needy
and my pension won’t feed me
But I’m ninety four!
Written after being inspired by ‘Stupid People’ poem by SillyBilly theKidster
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/stupid_people_900910
05~16~17
Now That I'm 64 by SillyBilly the Kidster
I gotta keep working an extra few years,
not like years before.
Government is screwing me for every dime,
I can’t afford a bottle of wine.
Hip's been replaced,
yes I’m getting old.
I Can't Work Any More,
but I'm still needy,
social security won't feed me,
now that I'm 64.
05~17~17
Where will tomorrow take us
Only God alone can tell
A brighter future a cloudless day
Or an earthly living Hell
How much of its our doing
How much is down to me
Is the fate laid out before us
A future meant to be
I know I've tempted fate before
At least a time or two
Risked life and limb and maybe more
I'd risk it all anew
Cos life for me's a wonderland
A journey to behold
A beautiful utopia
For the young and for the old
Til man exacts his dominance
Over everything he can
And mortgages each single soul
Of every living man
A banking led dystopia
Indebtedness their aim
We're caught here in the crossfire
In a costly Rotschild game
The year is sixteen ninety four
And a deal is on the cards
The notes are shilling loudly
From the moneylenders bards
Twelve hundred thousand reasons
Mortgage woman, man and child
The deal's been done, the trap's been sprung
The laughing Joker's wild
The Devil dealt a crooked hand
The rules weren't Heaven sent
The loans they pays a kingly ransome
The bets at eight percent
Inflationary stirms prevail
Nations drowningbin the flood
The odds now stacked in favour
Of a deal they signed in blood
Now money's just a token
The game is truly up
Their sleight of hand's been deftly played
They fill their debtors cup
Human lives collateral
As the game stacks in their favour
No money's needed anymore
The game is theirs to savour
Where will tomorrow take us
Only God alone can tell
The Devil deals in dying folks
His deals a living Hell
The game's a crooked one we know
It's plain for all to see
And the fate laid out before us
Is down to you and me
This coin depicting a head of man with laurel
is a rare treasure from the American History,
as an auctioneer I could sell it for a large
sum of money: its estimated price is over
two-thousand-dollars, it shows it was minted
in eighteen-ninety-four, come forward and bid!
I found it among pennies I saved for rainy days,
there must be at least four thousand of them;
my collection includes contemporary silver dollars,
many generations must pass to accumulate value...
any other collector would action them any day!
I jealously hold onto them to own a piece of History:
how they glitter in glass cases on my walls!
I may donate them to the American History
Museum in Manhattan and see them on display!
Many auctioneers would love to get hold of my silver coin,
their mind is set solely on greed, not thinking of its history
which can unravel fascinating details about of its minting process;
the unknown artisan was very skilled in itching date and image
on both sides to testify the greatness and wealth of this nation,
but Americans don't realize that they are very wealthy indeed!
T h e S a l e
Near the end of a lonely road
A home where an old man did reside
Traffic parked all around the house
Contents "For Sale", - the sign implied
"He'd lived there as long as he could, -
Ninety four years", I heard someone say
Immediate family, now passed on
At last, now he has moved away
For decades, this had been his home
How sad, he had to go
Feeble hands, prevented tasks
And steps were getting slow
Furniture, battered, worn and aged
Old radios, fans, and silverware
Used garden tools, and books galore
Some ordinary, but others rare
So many items, inside and out
In their time, each held their place
Now little more than a cast-a-way
His new address, had little space
I'm sure within his memory bank
Many younger days he recalled
A telephone, - - the first TV,
Or when a furnace, was installed
Only a few items, now adorn
The place he now abides
A bed, a chair,and one small table
A few special pictures, are his pride
There to live out his final days
Lonely hours, seem to have no end
A highlight that would mean the most,
Is a visit from family, - or a friend
Colan L Hiatt = 09-24-13
© All Rights Reserved
Eye catching patterns in colourful squares
Were carefully stitched by gifted old hands
Commissioned for years to sew her fine quilts,
Her quilting designs were sought through the lands
Each blanket exquisite and full of old charm
All labours of love made at home on her farm
But time marches on and her eyes had grown tired
And at ninety four years she is now long retired
Strange shadows had dappled this earth,
On a day beautiful in utter stillbirth!
Moonlit at noon-sun eclipsed by the moon,
Vastly, crescent sun shadows were strewn!
Then the breeze assumed a sudden chill,
At the pause in ancient ritual thrill,
On May the tenth, nineteen ninety four-
I believe that heaven was at my door!
Not since the golden midday I was born,
Had I awakened to such a jewelled morn,
Awash in a treasure of silver and gold,
It won't repeat until a century unfolds.
Birds were hush, and the people in awe,
As night had forced the day to withdraw.
The fiery sun grew dark as a blackberry,
Sensing the day had gone quite contrary.
All were actors in the great shadow play,
Even fireflies, warblers and our blue jay,
On the beauteous day of silver sunlight,
When the amorous moon took the spotlight!
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
Seems each time I visit my doc he recommends more pills for my health!
I'm not sure they're effective but this I know, they're depletin' my wealth!
And with all the side effects, I'm really concerned about my early doom!
"He expired from excessive medications!" might aptly be etched upon my tomb!
The list is endless - Diuretics, Beta Blockers, Nexium, Advil and Tylenol,
Alpha Blockers, Vitamin D, Zantac, Zocor, Micardis and a bit of Timolol,
Carisoprodol, Hydrocholorothiazide, Alphagan, Moltrin and Fosamax,
Hydroxyzine, Caltrate, Phillips Milk of Magnesia and some Atarax!
The black-box warnings say I could suffer everything from dehydration,
To blurred vision, dizziness, diahrea and a serious case of constipation!
My Pa seldom saw a doc and lived to the ripe old age of ninety-four!
He survived by sippin' SSS Blood Tonic and usin' horse linamint for
His aches and pains and other such stuff peddled by the Watkins Man!
I may toss the bottles and use his home-remedies to increase life's span!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
The nineteen-ninety-four Olympic games
were held in Norway that specific year;
the thing that I remember, shame of shames...
two women athletes made the news...oh, dear.
Named Tonya Harding, Nancy Kerrigan,
great figure skaters, talented, well-known,
made history when jealousy began,
and Tonya did not want to share the 'throne'.
Ex-husband and accomplice, with baton,
attacked, caused injury to Nancy's knee;
and this was all the news could center on...
'good versus evil' made sport's history.
She healed in time to then participate
in finals, earned the Silver; Tonya lost.
Assailants went to jail; headlines abate.
Black mark on that Olympics was the cost.
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Premiere Contest: Olympics Mania
Sponsor: Janis Thompson
Judged: 09/04/2016
Read more: http://www.infoplease.com/spot/winter-olympics-harding.html
Ain't nothin' like a steamin' cup o' coffee to greet the early morn.
It'll calm yer nerves and git you goin' just as sure as you wuz born!
With mixin's added to suit yer taste, it must be scaldin' hot,
Decaf, regular, chicory-strong or mild, it really matters not!
Some folks prefer a styrofoam cup, others a massive mug,
But those proffer an indelicate way to down a gulpin' slug.
Others, a dainty cup and saucer, pinkie sedately bent,
Sippin' delicately so social faux pas one is sure to prevent!
I hear it ain't acceptable to dunk a donut in yer mug o' java,
Or pour coffee in a saucer to cool, tho' it's hot as flowin' lava.
But I ain't concerned about it bein' a great big social blunder,
As folks disdainfully stare at me as if I wuz some alien wonder!
Docs debate the merits of caffeine, whether it's healthy or not.
Let 'em bicker, I'll decide what to percolate in my coffee pot!
My dear old Dad had his daily caffeine fix, livin' 'til ninety-four.
I've done the same fer years and I'm approachin' nigh four-score!
Nowadays, fancy concoctions are brewed for the discernin' taste;
Expresso, mocha, cappuccino, even Irish whiskey laced!
Such exotic ambrosia to others I'll graciously defer.
I'll keep on slurpin' an ordinary cop 'o joe, which I much prefer!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Doris Lessing is dead,
And she's not a feminist,
An uninhibited outspoken
novelist,
She's also sociable and
artistic.
Mind you she's no easy meat,
Won the Nobel Prize for a
lifetime writing,
Passed away at the age of
ninety four,
And her memories through
her books will continue.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
A tribute to the lady who
wrote the famous 'The Golden
Notebook'
She left her family to for her
work.
Novelist,poet and writer.
ninety-four million six hundred seventy thousand passing seconds not knowing what we had gotten ourselves into.
One thousand burning fires in our eyes and in our hearts
Dreaming of what will happen next
One thousand beautiful walks, watching the sun rise as our eyes widen, suddenly we are as awake as the sun is.
ninety-four million six hundred seventy thousand passing seconds thats how many seconds it takes to extinguish the fire and close our eyes.
ninety-four million six hundred seventy thousand passing seconds until you leave without a sound
how long I will sit here and think of those astonishing ninety-four million six hundred seventy thousand passing seconds.
(Haiku)
Gold dust rides whirlwind,
softly speckles wet canvas,
Lost Dutchman Mine found
Prose ~
"Maggie save your strength..." words whispered in the corridor of a prestigious art gallery in Paris, France. The elderly lady, dressed in black and trimmed in lace, is a prisoner of her iron chariot.
Sixty years had passed...
Quietly, she stood transfixed
A Blue Bonnet wax figurine -- in a shop
An old lady trapped in an oil painting
But opportunity comes
To escape the canvas
Smell the cherry blossoms
Exhale sublime liberation
Never had one gasp
felt so -- good.
A rainbow sphere shadows the painted desert
Trailblazers and pioneers have sought treasures
The Superstition Mountains and Lost Dutchman Mine
Snow-capped peaks and haunted canyons
This desert is refuge to insidious creatures,
venomous snakes, scorpions, and the hella monster!
It creeps within clay crevices
Beneath shale, rocks, and cactus
A silhouette seated on a rock...
canvas colored with oil colors
and raw sienna imagination.
Prisoner of lost love
Heart bound in iron shackles
Signature faded away...
by humidity and time.
Her secret no longer
a palace phantom
Aberrations refracted
by the midnight moon
Pedestrians pass by...
Tumbleweeds on the Tucson tundra
Tis' long ways from Arizona
A Mirage...
creating colorful portraits
beneath sublime peacock paradise.
Today's cause for celebration
Ninety-four years have gone to dust
Reincarnation reborn...
her last will and testament
seen by eyes of others.
She smiles gracefully,
her grandson hands her
a Peacock feather.
Maggie May Lancaster,
signature etched
with a trembling hand.
Maggie smiles one last time...
feather wedged between cold, clenched fingers.
Wrinkled face petrified with peacock passion;
saturated with solitude, solace, and grace.
Her ice cold -- steel blue eyes glisten
Like the look of a Norwegian sailor
Aboard a cog ship cruising Arctic waters.
Now she can return to the picture
Her painted face
Resembles the rainbow