Best Placesmen Poems
She is the mother place of all humanity.
From her womb was birthed the first man.
The first self aware and inventive beast,
Standing erect, carrying tools of his own invention.
Science tells us that in the beginning....
All men were black of skin, Negroid of features,
With very limited amounts of body hair.
Befitting of the Continent that bore them.
Great civilisations rose and fell on her bosom.
In Egypt, Kush, Ethiopia, Somalia, Ghana,
While cities like Khartoum, Axum and Timbuktu rose,
We pale-skinned peoples were still living in caves.
Remember Stanleyville and Leopoldville and Carthage.
Remember Rhodesia, Zaire and Zimbabwe. Remember.
Tribes, not nations, in Rwanda, Sudan, Chad, at war.
Little peace, if any, protects the innocent and weak.
Still, the peoples are joyful and positive in outlook.
The Fishermen of Eritrea and Capetown, laugh for the fish.
The Masai, since the dawning of time, are cattlemen.
While Ethiopia is home to the oldest continuous Christian church.
Africa is a land no man may conquer but all men desire.
A continent where desert sands or jungles easily swallow,
And digest entire civilisations, leaving only scant traces.
I cannot but love the Continent and its inhabitants.
Two little men from winney- can- do, went out for a day trip to the zoo. They packed a big
lunch, and filled up the car, for the trip to the zoo was really quite far.
When they arrived, and had a look round, they were astonished at what they had found.
There were lions and tigers, monkeys and giraffe. The two men were having a really good
laugh.
But when they reached the reptile house, they had to be quiet as a mouse. For the biggest
croc that lived in the park, had broken out in the dark. They knew he was in there, but didn’t
know where; the two men were really and truly quite scared.
Then all of a sudden one of them sneezed, and fell over backwards into a big tree.
A rustle of branches and then a big scream, this can’t be happening, this must be a dream.
The man called out to his friend all concerned, then heard a big growl and slowly turned.
There in front of him sat on a rock, was a giant and rather angry big croc.
The man froze with fear and just couldn’t run, and with one snap ended up in the big crocs
tum.
So if you ever go to winney-can-do, please don’t ever visit the zoo.
Up the hill to my home,
Amongst white pillars,
Gardens with fountains and
Green, green, green,
Sits my house.
Brown, because the paint chipped,
With front steps missing and
Worn shoes by the door.
Passerby’s remark at the yellow of our grass,
Shudder at the chained dog barking.
Through the streets,
Little piles up until
The rain pours down sending it
Right to our house.
Unpaved driveway colliding with
Rusty pick up truck,
Hood always up.
Neighbors never greeting us,
Guests uncomfortable with
Four pizza stained children running around.
Downtown the main road swerves
Sending you to Bethel or Braintree, but
Just before sits the Kimball Library,
Regal, with high front steps leading to
Two giant doors.
Marble benches carved in with names
Of families who selfishly donate,
Names of families long passed away.
Walking nearby, the bridge,
Crumbles and shakes with
All the passenger cars.
On each side a river,
Gleaming orange and red from
The stones underneath.
Down there hooky boys skip stones and
Smoke cigarettes,
Laughing, about nothing, just laughing.
With two grocery stores,
Fighting for priority and
One Ben Franklins always busy with
Grandmothers buying frames,
Little girls with their Barbie’s clutched to their chest and
Mothers stressing over prices.
With a bank always busy with
Men who spent all their money at the bar,
With men who can’t afford their home,
With men dirty from twelve hours of digging,
Dirty with debt.
A solitary tern soars lazily above the sunlit, pristine beach,
Wheeling on the ocean breezes, emitting its haunting screech.
The glistening sands that were once stained with a hero's blood,
Are now cleansed by the ebb and flow of years of tidal flood.
The beach that once resounded with the cannons' roar,
Now echoes with the booming surf rushing to shore.
Where once gallant men stormed that hallowed strand,
Little children now romp and play upon the golden sand.
Tourists enjoy the beauty of the setting sun at the end of day,
And later marvel at the moon's reflection upon the tranquil bay.
For the brave men who stormed that beach, day was never done.
They struggled and suffered day and night to see the battle won!
Soothing music now wafts across the peaceful shore,
That years ago reverberated with the frightful sounds of war.
People chat, laugh, love and swirl drinks with tinkling ice,
Never minding the courageous souls who paid the ultimate price.
Alas, valorous men gave their all in those vast Pacific reaches,
On lonely, nameless, bloodied, now serene and hallowed beaches.
Oh! That humankind would somehow ever keep in mind,
The senseless futility and pain that war leaves behind!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)