Best Shelling Poems
Lest we forget
When the Shelling
And the Din of gunfire
Finally stopped
His mind was shot
A hollow broken shell
Stood
Crooked in the corner of some foreign land
Every boy and man befell unto
Inspite of class or rank
Come 1,
Come all
To walk the plank
Into no mans land
Gods hands
As the marching band grew silenced
Drowned out by the violence
Of brethren slain,
Into the Dunes of Alamein
Sand in sheets
scuffing skin and reminding
last nights attire reaks like bonfire
a hundred days like this
a sea of endless laughs rolling
like filmreels infinitely looped fantastic
Their cars rolled in, shiney and pretentious
personalized plates waxed clever wit
crowding this small town to gloat in sand-side castles
Yacht club yucks shelling bucks like bayou crayfish
condescending, fun loving, brash Chicago touristas
Bless their daughters who filed in sassy
chin up, chest out trustafarians
scents of coconut lotion and clinique perfume
wafting through our warm lake breeze reality
Giddy and loving our rough edged style
intending to slum with townies, like we minded...
smiles glowing in those bonfire nights
mischievious and promising...
Every action thereafter defied catholic school education
...benificiaries of repression rebellion...like we minded!
Lake Michigan was paces from my bedroom window
These sparrow serenaded mornings..
...morphing into something amphibious
when the alewives were raked, we lay lazy
Bodies melted into sand~~ sated with sun
splashing back to cool off in sandbars
coolers anchored in those cool waters
taking long pulls off a perspiring Heineken
Beach days concluded with seagulls off to hunt
Squaking as they ascended into pink and orangecicle skies
The water shimmered like a million illuminated snakes
...side winding-mirrored the suns final say
Couples pulled up to Harbor landing to see the show
heads melted into one mass in windshields all around
lovers seeing nature's beauty more vibrant as lovers do...
The sunset brings a new purple backdrop
squaks are replaced with crickets chirps
Bright-then-fading green...BRIGHT-then fading green
Children gathered fireflies in jars laughing
Ice cream stained faces aglow with captive glee
Then to black and star filled, became the sky
we returned to cooler sand pushing between our toes
scurrying through dunegrass seeking driftwood and brush
creating a structure to take to flame...a science for proud boyscouts
There we gathered with newfound gals from cross lake 'burbs
sunrise would end our night tonight...awaking to lifeguards scolding.
Inspired by John Heck's Summer Contest!!
The Lumberjack's Hard Days Of Toil
Salty sweat, from deep axe strokes to lean hands
heavy cotton shirt soaked, mark of the man.
Lumberjack, strong, cut of a different breed
hard at toil, to fulfill his family's need.
With each hard day's task, his heart grew stronger
morn to night, his time away seemed longer.
Wife and children, rarely got to see dear dad
yet all knew his sweet love and were truly glad.
As his axe bit into hardest of trees
mother sat at home shelling garden peas.
Each one doing family duties and chores
living sweet melodies of musical scores.
Work done, rushed he, to family to rejoice
duty performed with honor and by free choice.
R.J. Lindley
Sept. 16th , 1996
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 11 11 0 10 10 11 11 0 10 10 11 11 0 11 11
Total # Syllables: 148
Total # Words: 112
Note: My father started out as a lumberjack, back in the day when so much was done by strong hands and not ease of machines! To be a lumberjack back then meant that you were a strong man and willing to work hard.
Both are strong and positive attributes.
My Dad, later after several years decided to use his brains more and his arms less.. I remember he saying often, "Son use whichever you think best, strength or brains but regardless the free choice made -do so honestly, fairly and with honor!
This poem, is dedicated to that man, the guy that saw honor in hard labor and
in using intelligence to garner a brighter and better future.
I have cut trees, carried and sawed logs, and split wood as a boy on the farm.
TRUST ME, IT IS HARD BACK BREAKING WORK.. but it also yields positive dividends and builds good character in a man.
I envy the dust, the way it moves all free and careless,
released from it’s sleeping state the thunderous pounds
of late shelling, again endless.
Muffled shouting, through this trench confounding,
Mustard attack, gas mask aside, fingers in fumbling fight
bitter cold night in a field.
No fireside, food to bite
cigarettes to smoke and mates to joke.
last one gone two days ago up one minute then vanished in a puff of smoke.
this place is beyond reality, it’s beyond insanity
fighting for earth no mother walked nor father built.
If they want to fight then bring it to my hills, not this flat wasteland of mud, blood, bones and chills.
We were thrown into this bloody war,
and we wont have our say, like we've never had before.
Taken to the slaughter history will say,
throwing ourselves forward like tidal-waves.
Waves on waves of sacrificial lunacy again and again.
we've taken little ground and this other trench looks bad, worse than ours
doesn't looked heavily manned looks like we lost more man.
What do we gain now? apart from more time in thought.
those withered layers of rotting feverish flesh, one part is fresh
the other pure dread.
captain is shouting, up on my legs
what’s going on...conscious or dead?
Life is like a nut,
Differs in shape, size, color or crust,
Life is like a nut.
For some, it’s like a coconut,
Beyond the reach, safe from gust
Very important, much privileged!
Whether unripen or matured.
For some it’s like a peanut,
Malleable, fit in budget
Widely spread, versatile no doubt
However, down and out.
For some it’s like a walnut,
You can see the eminence clear cut
Set comfortably in its dwell,
In a hard stilted shell.
For some it’s like a pine nut,
Gazes weird I tell you what
Shielded with strong beautiful woody cone,
Prevents you! to invade its zone.
For some it’s like a cashew nut,
Self-interested, pricy somewhat
Tightly attached with red pulpy drupe,
Be cautious! While shelling the fruit
For some it’s like a chestnut,
Down-to-earth, graceful but,
Surrounded with sharp spines called “Bur”
All adversities ought to conquer.
Life is like a nut,
Differs in shape, size, color or crust,
Life is like a nut.
It’s raining leaves and acorns
Contrast of sound
Silent shapes and colors drifting
Meanwhile the nuts
Shelling my roof, my deck, the air
Autumn whispers and flails her arms
No doubt now she’s arrived
She’s arrived in brisk fashion today
She’s armed and dangerous
and beautiful and clamorous,
turning bold and cold
and amorous.
Why do I say amorous?
Married couples will move from the sides
of their bed, to cuddle-pretend, igniting
fires in the center of their universe…
falling…falling…falling
in love, not minding the other
breathing down their neck,
the oceanic snore,
cold feet.
Cold feet, you say?
The flirtation of feet
will create giggles, in fact.
Only makes the heart grow fonder
in this autumnal swaddle.
If you're too young to understand,
well *bless your heart—
Go take a flying leap
into a crunchy, harvested,
wholesome pile of down…
down you go
in your innocence
make it last
because raking lasts,
as well—
you’ll find out soon enough
about aches and pains—
falling…
10/16/2021
used to express fondness; or sympathy for someone,
oft said in a covert and condescending way.
I remember so well the calico aprons that my Mother wore.
She made them from feed sacks that Father needed no more.
She wore them mainly to keep her pretty dresses pristine,
But she found so many other uses for them in her daily routine.
She used them to gather eggs from the henhouse nests,
And to shoo from her garden, crows and other such pests.
Toted in an apron were apples plucked fresh from the trees.
They were used for collecting pods after shelling peas.
Flowers from her garden filled the apron for pretty bouquets.
It held clothes pins to hang clothes for drying on laundry days.
Aprons were used as a receptacle when snapping green beans,
And to gather a batch of lettuce for a salad of tasty greens.
Many times her apron wiped tears from a little boy's eyes,
And wiped her furrowed brow when baking cakes and pies.
They were dandy for last-minute dusting before company arrived.
Without her apron, I don't know how Mom would've survived!
It seems that ladies no longer need an apron to wear themselves,
Since food can be readily snatched from nearby grocery shelves.
An apron is seldom worn by domestic engineers nowadays,
Since tossing supper in a microwave to heat is now the craze!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
"The Auditing"
We are all numbers
aren’t we? continually,
we are audited daily,
we audit each other
regularly
but we aren't regular
we are the noun
that rhymes with
britches
too big
for political
correctness
you could burn us
like a word that
rhymes with stitches
but do that,
you're not born,
you're non-existent
caught up
in the net
God's apron shelling
green peas
a small war waiting
for the lucky pot
like
judgement waiting
the torrid asizes
can't live
can't live without
counting beans
like eggs
in a basket
your first bedroom
the noun that
rhymes
with room
we, the fairer,
are never just
numbers on a page
to be
flipped
casually
you sit there
counting birds
sitting on a wire
ovens for baking
blackbirds baked
in a pie,
the pie
eventually cracks
canals
split wide open
blackbirds
now are flying ... out
we think about
it all
believe you me
we remember
the first number
and last number
on call
how many years
together
how many years
apart
how many hours
until tomorrow
how many seconds
until we part
it is amazing
what can and can’t
buy life and love
inconsequentially
like art
We are all numbers
every book
has its pages
One book
has its numbers
and even then,
we aren’t long enough
to entertain the concept
of what is and what is not
large or
small
revelation
...
the auditing,
like a black ball
drops
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"When the pie was opened,
the birds began to sing.
Now wasn't that
a dainty dish
to set before a king?"
You are shelling out a lot
Of racist evil remarks
That I don't appreciate
Your full of negative hate
Why are you so cruel and mean
What have your darkened eyes seen
That turned you into a bully
Sputtering out words so cooly
With no regard to the feelings
Of the people you sent reeling
Into a depressive state
Soon it will be much too late
To fix damage you have done
Every time your hatred runs
From the dark shell of your soul
Not knowing the tragic toll
Your creating with your ways
And the way your words will slay
Into innocent hears and minds
That break with new words you find
Disregarding everyone you see
That looks and acts differently
From others that fit your norm
Keep this up and soon the storm
Will fall on your poor existence
Making you see the conditions
You've been putting others in
Will backtrack on you again
As karma and fate combine
Slowly over years of time
Causing havoc in your life
Making your days full of strife
Unkind--not caring at all
As you finally take the fall
Leaving you alone to pass
To hell that will kick your A--
My life in a storage shed.
Paid for by the month.
I see you there in those horrible boxes.
Kneading the dough.
Our bed no longer holds us.
Dust formed a posse and waits.
Do you think of me?
When I cook I think of those days.
I see Nonna shelling fava beans.
Dipping bread in olive oil.
Ti taglierò la lingua (she would say after a tease.)
Teramo where i was alive.
I see the Domo and those friends.
If I close my eyes I can walk there.
You took the best of me but I have the dishes.
Slam poetry evening
Offended
Leave now
In fact why have you come
If this is not for you
Or do you 2 wish to slam
And are here looking for a muse
To abuse or accuse
To ignite your fuse
Try walking in other's shoes
So contrite
I write what bite's
I spew like devil's flu
Over and under you
I slam
That of which I give a damn
I compress like a powder keg
I challenge you to think ahead
I am what keeps you awake in bed
I am an dystopia future
I lie beneath the key's of your computer
That the ouigie move's
And your feet steers
I am what's lurching in the rear mirror
I am your fear's
The shivers that chill down your spine
I am the crossed line
An anomaly
Slamming brain matter pulsating vein's
Allowing your innermost thoughts to flow
Without self control
No longer shy truth not lie
I could fry for divulging the slam
Loose my friends and confidants
For the sake of mistaking poetry for art
But if freedom and release
Is what I seek
Then on this day
Havoc wreak
I stand on fickle hoarded stage
And read my words from tortured page
And rage against my weapons
With dotted crosses
Ironing out the botches
With scalpel and shale beach rocks
And feel the chill of deafening frost
Nothing lost
Nothing ventured
Friendship mended
Slam ended
Can't even tell you
Why or even if I penned this
Or meant it
The sentiment is endless
For the reader to bend it
Sorry but I felt duty bound to send this
I honestly recommend it
Slam me back
Call me an old hack
Its the only way of keeping track
Or shelling the flack
Otherwise i will keep coming back
More black and blank
With no 1 to thank
And you can take that to the food bank
(September 2014)
While rage of war surrounds this special man
he, driver of an ambulance, remains
to help his wounded townsmen heal, survive-
men downed by civil war in Syria.
The shelling dealt by forces pro-Assad
caused families to flee from streets and homes
to fields or mountains many miles away-
compelled to leave their household cats behind.
Now on their own left to survive, this man,
when not attending wounded friends, he would
become a savior to these orphaned pets-
enrich their lives in such a giving way.
“Cat man of Aleppo” became his name;
he took the time to care for them each day.
The money from his savings purchased meat
for cats that gathered near his home to feast.
One-hundred fifty plus became his charge;
for many months, he did this wondrous deed.
Good news amid the tragic world events-
“Man shares his heart with cats and humankind.”
(March 2019)
Two-thousand sixteen- bombs forced him away;
when healed, returned- compassion multiplied.
Not just for cats- for kids formed havens for
an orphanage and kindergarten school.
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: Compassion
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Judged: 06/12/2019
~1st Place~
Contest: The Good News Paper
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
Judged 11/17/2014
True story, featured on many Internet news sites- September 2014
Current 2019 update- how his compassion grew to further help humankind.
https://www.bbc.com/news/stories-47473772
Cajole me in the right frame of mind
For I'm vexed not because of
Personal issues but because of the
Morbid, abstract canvas of life
I'm subjected to witness, where
Groups of so-called righteous men
Drop indiscriminate bombs
On fellow humans ripping
Homes and families apart
Shedding the blood of the innocent
Then simply labeling it
Collateral damage -
Collateral damage of War
Shelling babies... collateral
Damage of war!
Then pluck out thine eyes
With two bold fingers
For I cannot bear witness
To the dislodging of families
Fleeing wildly wherever
The cold wind blows
Crossing rough seas
None with the ability of
Jesus to walk on water
Nor faith to part it like Moses
Water ...swilling with red blood
And saline stinging tears
Mothers wailing bearing
The agony in suffering
Petrified twisted faces pressed
To their wet bosoms
Fathers gnashing teeth,
Raging, panting, feeling
Like a poltroon
Powerless. Gray skies depicts
No rainbow, no promise.
Strike me down
I refuse to bear witness
Beseeching before I meet my demise,
Obliterate borders, these
Man made borders
Us with our Jingoistic attitude
Jingoistic ... flag waving
Entitlement ... displaying
Utmost xenophobia
The mantra mocking
Go home, go home, go
Home - face your fate
On your homeland soil
Drenched and soaked in blood.
I shiver terrifically in my skin
What if it was me ... you
In those weathered skin
Under the moon and stars
Branded a refugee, worthless
Vulnerable, famished, weak
Motivated by hope to
Overcome barriers and borders
And when pruned fleshed
Feet imprint the coarse sand
There's no child in hand
Swallowed up by the gluttonous sea
Let hell's bells drone on
When dastardly Superpowers drop
Nasty bombs on the innocent
Butchering, maiming ... moribund
Then labeling it collateral damage
Cajole me in the right frame of mind
For I will go stark raving mad.
© 2015 Denise Morgan
My coat streaked in shades of brown
My home borrowed in the ground
Cheeks full with summers plunder
Winter is coming will there be enough I wonder
Nuts and seed are enough to please
For these I gather with expertise
Shucking and shelling to reveal my foils
Carefully tucking them away so not a one spoils
They say I'm a mammal small in size
I say please don't chastise
For that little debility
I make for with speed and agility
For I am Chipmunk
Not some little punk
Sunlight at an angle dancing through colored leaves
Cool nights to snuggle beneath the sheets; warm days of ease
Last of gardens harvest; goodbye to summer's bees
Joyful time to harvest soon days a breeze
Pumpkins, winter squash, turnips, and peas
Food in bounty stored away for many days
Christmas will be upon us in just a very few days
The yard will be raked again and again to rid of leaves
Garden vegetables will be stored also cooking of peas
For right after Christmas comes New Years Day with ease
The howling winds will blow and it won't be just a breeze
But now all the bugs have disappeared_gone are the bees
We will not have to worry with yellow jackets or bees
As the night grow longer and shorter the winter days
March soon will come in bringing its strong breeze
Those indominable buds show forth on the trees soon leaves
We will float into warm days and beauty of spring with ease
Now we will have eaten most of those delicious peas
Soon in the newly planted garden_those early June Peas
Newly hatched from their hiding places comes those bees
Just lying around in the hammock with all this ease
These wonderful times_joy of longer days
Joy, oh! joy and joy again with spring's green leaves
Soft and gentle comes a blowing spring's warm breeze
But there is one less chore now for there is no raking leaves
Afternoon in the lazy hammock oh what ease
Glad that in the garden and Pampas Grass stay those bees
These times in life are just fun and a zephyr breeze
Summer comes with the picking, shelling, and freezing peas
These times are wonderful long sunny days
But soon slowly fade, then the change in those leaves
Summer still has a lazy few days with comfy ease
Even if the pollen draws those hungry stinging bees
From the west and north come a much drier breeze
How thankful that we have those great peas
Soon fade those longer sunlit sunny days
No raking leaves in winter, only by firelight with ease and read
All those pesky bees gone now, on the currents winter's breeze brings flurries
Now dine on peas put away to eat on cold fruitless days of old man winter