Best Paucity Poems
3/2/03
I saw no way- The heavens were stitched
I felt the columns close
The earth reversed her hemispheres
I touched the Universe
378: Emily Dickenson
The Shape of Death
Because I could see through all the eyes of men,
Pandora's sin,the sum of every joy and sorrow crowded in
I felt the paucity of greed.
The simple mood of life enriched by guileless generosity
I asked, "Are good and evil mixed?"
I saw no way - the heavens were stitched.
And stitched perhaps until the hour of death
Because I could see through all the eyes of men,
I knew of life's inevitable end
that closure, that omega rose
that brings eternal sweet repose.
That stealth of life in increments
the broken bond of flesh to death
Within its marble tenements
I felt the columns close
The columns closed, my mother passed,
Because I could see through all the eyes of men,
my solace weighed in beauty that we gathered,
in all my childhood hours
In sunsets, birdsong, clouds, and dew
in measured memory of her face
I turned myself away from our lost years
The earth reveresed her hemispheres
Reversed - that algebraic leap,
Because I could see through all the eyes of men
All wisdom spilled to unity of life,
Death un-veiled - benign as the blank page before birth
returning that Divine immortal leaf
like the shape of space that waves traverse,
when split, between a particle
And I can say with nothing to coerce
Perhaps....I touched the Universe.
Riding off into the Ivory Palace sunset,
in a pitch-black limousine, no less
Hear the heavy metallic chariot roar,
leaving exacerbated fumes echo deplored
Aural palette, enamel pestilent pain
on burnt crimson background grain
Scorching prairie brush fire
was the cruel comfort desire
It’s aghast portrait in pandemic grief,
pyramid scheme exit of paucity relief
The curtain call, pulmonary rating king
is a modern-day Nero
His favorite numbers (violin strumming)
are the printed zeroes
Fashioning a Fourth Reich,
naked emperor be blew Lenin unsound
Ballot dropping the psych,
bosom burning the divided house down
With a teary grift posturing diddle,
Amerikan Nero is playing the fiddle
Rearview rolling one last Rublecon riddle,
carny Fahrenheit was the plucking piddle
Crumbling democracy
was brimstone seen through the smoke
Ash trail of hypocrisy
left an urn nation crematorium stoked
12-29-20
If wealth is now your blessing,
what then was the prayer?
Avarice, its goal possessing,
yet in penury, despair.
I see them often in the store
eyes ahead, regard for none.
Against the classes, tacit war—
Modus Operandi: shun.
Vaunted compounds they do flout—
absent grasp of their chagrin—
for walls and gates that keep us out
are prisons trapping them within.
They say those vexed by paucity,
should flee to foreign air,
for wages here of poverty
would make them wealthy there.
Thus, high above the world they scan—
well hidden from our sight—
discounting what the common man
is suffering tonight.
1st Place: Sing to Me Contest
Prompted by the remark made on this topic by fashion company Nicole Miller’s
CEO Bud Konheim. Thanks to Roy Jerden for his thoughtful help on the fifth stanza, allowing for much greater impact.
With a special nod to the song Royals by Lorde, which has a very compatible message.
Negative comments depict a lack of respect
PS Admin protects poets, and they object
By saying that's a no no
Don't be a cause of woe
Defiance shows a paucity of intellect
Others have offered this as a piece of advice
"If it's not your nature to write something nice,
write nothing at all"
'Cause rude words appall
Don't make Poetry Soup a fool's paradise
I reckon you could call me an old curmudgeon but that's alright!
I've been around four score and three and I have earned that right!
There are many things that annoy me but I'll mention just a few.
Hang in there with me as I attempt to get across my point of view!
Barkin' mutts and their inconsiderate masters drive me up the wall!
The droopy-poopy pants kids wear just makes my wrinkled hide crawl!
Cussin' in public by so-called ladies and gentlemen is so uncouth!
It annoys me that high-profile jerks don't set an example for our youth!
It nettles me when someone says they'll do somethin' and then they don't.
I'm annoyed with people who keep me waitin' which is usually their wont!
Careless drivers bug me especially jerks who think it's cute to tailgate,
And telephone solicitors who the serenity of my castle they desecrate!
I'm disturbed about those who flout the Constitution - 'tis an abomination!
It bothers me that we don't ask God's guidance for this troubled nation!
Pompous bureaucrats annoy me no end with their paucity of breedin'!
It rankles me to pay more taxes for which the guv'mint is ever pleadin'!
I ain't got no patience with a screamin' brat or a loud-mouthed dude,
(Nor people who murder the English language as I just did - it's so crude!)
I could ramble on and on ad infinitum about things that annoy me,
But I feel my blood pressure risin' so I had better let the subject be!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Not for the contest.
The glamorous uniform looked sharp in the posters about town.
Recruiters convinced the lad to join the Marines of great renown!
Reveille called, sergeants screamed, another tortuous day had begun!
He cried, "Lord, have mercy on me! What in the world have I done!"
The giddy lad proposed marriage to his beautiful young miss.
She happily concurred and he looked forward to years of bliss!
Now he has a common scold for a wife and a paucity of fun.
He lamented, "Lord, have mercy! What in the world have I done!"
The president-elect anticipated the perks and leading the nation,
And the dream of his dubious promises sailing through legislation.
He inherited unemployment, recession, wars and things left undone.
He puzzled, "Lord, have mercy! What in the world have I done!"
Assailed on all sides by savages and with things looking grim,
The impetuous Custer found himself hanging on to a sagging limb!
His last words might have been upon nearing life's setting sun:
"Oh, Lord! Have mercy on me! What in the world have I done!"
When we near the end of life's treacherous and rocky trail,
And are about to enter eternity through that mysterious veil,
We are apt to reflect on things we've done or left undone,
By pleading, "Oh, Lord have Mercy! What MIGHT I have done?"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Wisdom murmurs amid paucity of things—
seekers contemplative in cross-legged trance.
Pondering vaguities pensive meditation brings—
to apprehend with nonchalance of glance.
While to acolytes, such subtleties impinge—
denied are those of stifled grasp.
For in their minds a fetid dinge,
mundane failure to enclasp.
Stunted ones thus held in thrall,
ever signal their incurious pose.
While unmuted is a mounting wrawl,
from those abhorrent in appose.
The blind above in fog would lead,
who daily task us for our gaze.
They tire us with unending screed,
and we ignore while they abrase.
Rather would I summon stillness—
watch quiet water smooth a stone.
Free myself of this world’s illness—
love gently life I choose alone.
I began with questions that seemed ordinary,
Were they, but, simple? The self within was wary;
Started with small matters of curiosity,
Birth and death causes and effects seemed paucity...!
I search for my answer in each philosophy,
My question is in each wave of ecosophy;
The quintessence of my birth and my would-be death,
The gesticulation of existential breath...
Quest has doubled and tripled within and out, now,
Each step has full of fresh surprises, anyhow;
Powers, potentials, might, knowledge, and wisdom heights,
Rediscovered revaluations and their fights...
No swords, no battles, no dragons, and Dracula,
My quest is a passing path toward acura;
With fear, sloth, and fake oath I do not feel at ease,
My quest is oriented toward love, joy, and peace...!
Like a root emerging from a seed that travels,
Toward growing into a tree self unravels;
Isn't, yet, my movement, like a wavy-sea yachter?
Or, like, one in a desert, yearning for water...???
30 March 2023
Writing Challenge - 'Q' Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Syllables Checked At: How Many Syllables
Then I knew what lay over the distant horizon
For the sun dared me to follow it to the other side
Where light took shape in a proud day’s kaizen,
Morning accompanied yesterday’s journey inside
The frolic of the night where dragons had come to hide.
I awakened to the sound of recorders and flutes
Neatly clad pedestrians hustling to the cities’ centers,
Skyscrapers built like working men in sturdy boots --
I watched from subway steps one hurriedly enters
While my country’s powerful slept like mad dissenters.
My peace was suddenly shattered by earth's shaking
One hapless hemisphere grating against a silent other
Trying to foresee the future, theirs for the taking,
Because passivity and paucity of concern smother
Devaluing the halcyon days of my father and mother.
The sun bade me follow upward to the eastern rim
To view objectively another point of view in time
And space, that I shall experience in lessons less grim,
Awakening my heart chilled, then fluttered in mime
Seems humankind, en toto, has a rugged uphill to climb.
EIGHTH PLACE WINNER
written February 3, 2022
especially for "Quintain (English)" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Emile Pinet
#76 on Poetry Soup's Best Poems List
February 25, 2022
Written: July 30, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
************
The carnival dazzles—
mirific mosaics of midway magic
woven with whimsical calls from barkers
who strut boldly on boards
slick with popcorn oil and neon promises.
I, the aficionado of the absurd,
immerse myself in spectacle masquerading as
celebration,
a Falstaffian extravaganza,
a sockdolager of strobe-lit sensation,
where circus rages as horology gone amok—
clockwork chaos camouflaged as joy.
Here, even dyspnea dances:
lungs tight from laughter,
feet blistered on the boards
where the locals jive
to tunes sung in xenoglossia tones—
languages lost or learned
in the jamboree of jest.
We picnic beneath paper moons
and eat Easter-colored candy
as if Lent were long forgotten—
in this nefarious fair,
Time adumbrates indulgence.
I stumble past scantling booths
where prizes lean akin to broken teeth
and prayers cast unanswered
in the apiary buzz of sugar-rushed view.
One iconoclast offers nepenthe in a cup
with carbonation and broken fortunes—
And in that moment,
an epiphany unfolds as a palimpsest,
laughter scrawled over ancient pain,
glee grafted onto grief.
There is no paucity of pain here,
only its parody—
a meritorious mimicry
for those who can bear the weight
and yet select the lighter path.
A temporary guest of the night,
I own nothing,
but borrow every flicker of joy—
every flick of flame from the festival's fire,
every tune from the gala laughter.
Even illeism fades in festal light,
where I am not the observer,
but the observed,
not just the poet,
but the poem itself,
drawn toward this lodestone of longing.
And at last, beneath Ferris wheel stars,
I whisper into the abyss—
a cognate cry to the cosmos
_The feast is fleeting
but oh, how glorious
the festival finished?
As twilight dims in western skies,
umbra’s odd and coppery band
gloams slowly cross the perished land.
Mystery to our wond'ring eyes,
this marvel now can be unveiled—
a shadow looms, moonlight impaled.
Scarce minutes though its firm demise,
phantasm this or merely dream,
supplanted now by arc lamp's beam.
For few regard eclipsed moon rise,
snuffed out by artificial day
of garish neon’s crude Cosplay.
Heaven itself denied apprise,
for surfeit reigns with paucity,
confirming our vacuity.
A sad lament must then arise,
and honor for the night persist;
ersatz and real ought coexist.
* * * *
As twilight dims in western skies—
mystery to our wond'ring eyes—
scarce minutes though its firm demise,
for few regard eclipsed moon rise.
Heaven itself denied apprise,
A sad lament must then arise.
1st Place, Andrea's Inspiration, Connie's Form, Constanza
Click above on "About this Poem" for commentary on terms/lines.
Dedicated to the International Dark Sky Association<>
A vexatious question posed by kids of every generation,
One that sets parents to gnashing their teeth with irritation,
And tends to spread a pall over a well-planned vacation,
Is, "Are we there yet?" along the way to their destination!
From the rear seat, there's a paucity of civil conversation.
Mom's firm hand has resolved many a truculent confrontation!
Dad's patience has reached the point of violent detonation!
"Are we there yet?" the kids whine, to their parent's consternation!
The stalwart Pilgrims sailed the roiling seas with trepidation,
Risking their very lives to escape the bonds of privation.
The age-old query from kids must've driven them to exacerbation!
"Are we there yet?" pestered the kids to their parents aggravation!
It had to be a daunting venture to join the westward migration,
As Pa faced the rugged Rockies, the vastness of God's Creation!
Roaring rivers and Indians - he surely had that sinking sensation!
Did he suffer kids' "Are we there yet?" for the trek's duration?
Does this annoying phrase develop during gestation?
Is it primordial? Has it been around since Creation?
Has it something to do with genetics or even reincarnation?
Parents merit a special place in heaven for enduring such recitation!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
President's Day is approaching so I thought I would further your education,
By revealing useless trivia about some of the dudes who've served our nation.
President Washington actually had to borrow money to get to his inauguration.
He wore size 13 shoes and seldom took a bath much to Martha's indignation!
Abe Lincoln agreed his wasn't the prettiest face when all was said and done!
Once called 'two-faced' he said, "If I had two faces, do you think I'd wear this one?"
James Buchanan was nearsighted in one eye and farsighted in the other,
Causing him to lean his head to the left and close one eye, which was a bother!
For his breakfast, Ulysses Grant loved cucumbers soaked in vinegar to eat!
He probably saved his hide since he declined to join Abe in his theater suite!
Woodrow Wilson was plagued with indigestion and was blind in one eye.
He had a pet sheep named Old Ike that chewed tobacco and that ain't no lie!
Cal Coolidge used a paucity of words so that many folks thought him dead!
He liked his head rubbed with Vaseline while eating his breakfast in bed!
Harry Truman kept a sign on this desk that read, "The Buck Stops Here!"
Remembered will be his scorching letter to an editor defending Margaret's career!
'Tis well-known that Ronnie Reagan dearly loved Nancy and jelly beans,
And was happiest at his ranch riding a horse and wearing old jeans!
And finally, from Barack Obama we learned that there are fifty-seven states,
And that he makes skillful use of a teleprompter to ensure there are no misstates!
Th-th-thats all folks - more than you ever wanted to know about these chaps!
(There's much more I could reveal but it best be kept under close wraps!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
There was a bongoman, and he dreaming
Where the rock hovered above the blue sea
Looked through the white mist of a dew drenched morning
And clenched tight his memory of history
Black as midnight: showed me shining like day
Black Starliners, and his tears melted away.
Walk softly let me sing my song, redemption brings
The whip to silence and the heart to lift its wings
And then he laughed aloud, his heart beating
Drums like a flock of bird wings. This called me
Inexplicably to stand before him feasting
My eyes on his joy, and his tangled beauty
Of hair and form, without Samson's great flaws
I heard his covenant to Afric's laws:
No swine flesh in Selassie I temple
No labor for the rag of foul Babylon
Peace and love recovered of nature's principle
Keep's the dove in the flesh of the lion
Eating herbs as a lamb. And high above
The sea, the forest throbs with songs of love
He told his sorrows in Psalms recounting
Another's tragedy through which he claimed
His own, and whipped scuttled pride to rise surmounting
The shambled faith imposed on bodies maimed
By tyrant's culture and chains, to find
The cliff where Marcus Garvey led the blind
And made them see with power of his words
Towering Kilmanjaros of beauty
Breaking the sun, splintering its silver bright swords
Into strands, opening the majesty
Of wonders past on plain banana leaf
Feeding Anansi duckuno from grief
It does not matter anymore, the blames
The city lies upon his head; he cried
His tears for Babylon melting in oral flames
Bongo with Jah lives iver in the tide
Of Rastafari righteous inity
Behold the bongoman in divinity
I was late to school to know the bright lies
That silence permitted against his pain
The bongoman on the misty sea fastened his eyes
And searched for his Judah's Lion again
For out of him was life forever, dread
Life sweeter than the heaven of the dead.
And those ships, the angels of Marcus' dream
Make good covenant with the paucity
Of truth, and hold the bongoman in moonbeam
Dancing on rock point of belief, certainty
Mixed like bitter herbs in the ital food
Sweet as drums on the morning bright of mood.
Whenever we get together as confreres in the religious order,
there’s so much to deal with burning issues and other concerns,
paucity of personnel links to inability of acquiring new missions;
indeed, a great need that our priority speaks for more vocations.
Like an investment in business where we cooperate with lay people,
our ministry articulates relationships with diverse cultures,
a key-word in evangelization walking with the poor people;
again, it’s what the role of the church echoes in today’s generation.
Across the length of time I’ve spent in the growing mission,
one particular item that always reminds me more than anything else;
live the lifestyle of poor people - aware of their limitations,
closeness and aspirations that someday they’ll get an answer.
God’s blessings are revealed in many dimensions and situations,
with strong faith in Him, along with patience and optimism;
one can move on and cope with hardly any complaint at all,
for he believes that God knows what’s best to every human situation.
It’s an endless stream of struggle, a continuing effort to better off the plan,
with individual’s cooperation geared towards the commonality of our vision;
that is to build God’s kingdom in our working relationship with people
where peace, love and justice would reign in every heart and soul.
Oh, after that engaging discussion, let’s share now the food that’s served on the table,
with all those good wines such as chateau haut gravet, montes alpha sauvignon,
pinot grigio, les ombelles, les glaneuses, les fondettes, les genets, vallee de loire,
made from good quality, with refreshing, toasty aroma, and weighty on the palate
their spirit keep us warm, aligned to glorious meaning that missionary life entails.