Best Sibs Poems
The crowd was hushed and waiting
For wishes to resume
When suddenly there was
Another poet in the room.
When words might be expected,
My friends would all assume
That rhyming thoughts would come
From me, the poet in the room.
These folks were not my homies;
My sibs were there, though, whom
Would surely have expected
Me to rhyme into the room.
I had no poem I'd written,
No words with nom de plume,
But how I wished I'd been
The only poet in the room.
A set of siblings was in an effervesce
Of blossoms and bubbles.
This world to each was a bundle of joy.
They laugh and played like two girls should.
Somewhat different, as each became older, they would be captivated by desires.
There in a beautiful presence they thrived.
The blossoms were called The Country of Beautiful Florets.
In bubbles, this Country eternally occurred to exist.
God would choose this Country as his Kingdom.
These sibs were of royal blood.
Each emotionally governed the people ways.
Both espoused on the same day.
During one diurnal course, their world became dark
To reveal their purpose.
The bubbles formed a body of knowledge.
The blossoms would transmogrify humanity.
Yet the Country would revolve
Evolutionary to rebuild a new universe.
Worldly prophesy escaped
From a cosmopolitan figurehead.
God had redefined
As known!
The twins were part of his Throne.
Realm in matrimony within the brotherhood.
_______________________________________________|
Penned March 26, 2015!
When I was a kid, in the family car
We all knew where to sit;
If the order ever wavered,
Someone’d likely have a fit.
But today I heard of something new
Which tells me things have changed;
If someone hollers, “Shotgun!”
Well, the seats get rearranged.
The “Shotgun!” yeller sits up front,
Right by the driver’s side,
A better view, perhaps, and thus
A more prestigious ride.
I wonder how that’s working out
For I can clearly see
The problems this might cause within
The average family.
Had this been in existence when
My sibs and I were judging,
We would have yelled our heads off
But my mom would not be budging!
Each afternoon my mom and I would walk
Two miles along the old lake road to meet
My siblings' bus, and all the way we'd talk
How dear, the meager things ...
She'd tutor me with lines that I'd repeat
A special verse by rote, (tho' I would balk)
So thus by Friday eve I'd know, complete
Another sonnet I could proudly mock
These lessons lasted only 'til we'd greet
My sibs, on the return trip we took stock
Of all the nature, bright and bittersweet
How dear, the meager things ...
I so enjoyed those little walks each day
That aged lake road with forest canopy
I'll always hear her voice beside me say
How dear, the meager things ...
Numberless, the instructions, taught to be
The priceless wisdom used along my way
While memorizing verse then wearied me
It's why I'm now this poet, and to stay
Of all life's lessons that I've come to see
The one most precious I will ne'er betray
My hand in hers, so safe and so care-free ...
How dear, the meager things.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Writing Challenge, Feb 2019, Roundel Form" Poetry Contest, Dear Heart, Judge & Sponsor.
(Syllables counted at HowManySyllables.com)
an Arabian sonnet
Raising up a falcon brood – bucolic,
one becomes extremely melancholic.
Yesterday a clamor vitriolic
told of eyas’ danger diabolic.
Trying panacea called a mixer
feeding drops of magic juice elixir,
desultory effort served to fix her.
Little did I know there was a trickster.
Still forbearance caused my heart to tremble.
Gathered on the roof, my birds resemble
teenage bullies looking to dissemble.
Such assemblage often does beleaguer.
Lissome sibs had pushed off little leaguer -
fellow eyas not yet fledged but eager.
*eyas (eye’ yuz) is a nestling falcon
taken from the nest for training, plural is eyasses
Revival meetin's are nearly passe' in this day and age,
But when I was a kid they were then all the rage!
Mom made us kids attend whether we wanted to or not.
I must admit they provided entertainment that I've never forgot!
Invitations were sent to everyone in the local surrounds,
Invitin' folks for week long meetin's with dinner on the grounds.
To hear the visitin' parson declare the Good News to the fold;
That eternal message of love heralded to generations untold!
Animated preachers from the rostrum did scream and yell,
Proclaimin' an immediate choice betwixt heaven and hell!
Thumpin' the pulpit scarin' the devil out of you,
Without kneelin' at the altar or even leavin' your pew!
My Mom, bless her soul, ever in a state of agitation,
Urged us to approach the Throne of Grace for our salvation!
Times too many to recall I was led by my ear to the altar,
But, alas, I usually fell from grace - my faith seemed to falter!
Though I look back on those times with some bemusement,
For at the time they provided my sibs and me with some amusement,
I'm forever grateful to straight and narrow paths we were directed,
To help plod life's treacherous bourne and cope with the unexpected!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
What if! I were a girl…
Born of noble parents,
Owning jewels’ palaces in town
Willow-wood’s cottages in countryside;
Long-eared tall dogs--chained in yard, beggars –waiting in queues on doors;
Feasts served to the hungry strangers,
Wine and coffee offered to the visitors;
Having horses, herds, farms and servants,
Tens of gardens of apples and pear,
A roses’ garden for new lovers;
Many meadows, several pastures, and dozen dark woods,
And soaring snowy falls, frisky rills, and calm clear creeks flowing in;
And you!
You were in rags, deprived of parents and sibs,
Working in our orchards,
Growing tomatoes in our farms, grazing our goats
Or serving our patrician guests— cigars…!
Truthfully, swearing of my manhood,
I would have simply, picked only—
You!
rampant and deadly
eating up the red blood cells,
leukaemia on course,
Fatigue,pain,profuse sweating,
uncontrollable symptoms.
It has many sibs
all with pure killer instincts,
one attacks prostate,
others the breast,skin and brain,
scientists in prolonged battle.
CONTEST:"Cantankacerous" sponsored by Joann Grisetti
I used to like you so much
In fact you were my favorite
I really looked forward with such
Eagerness each time we’d meet..
We were so cool and so close
And that is an understatement
I treated you like my own
And you were so sweet to me and ardent..
I was the brother you never had
And you filled that void in me
‘see I was an only child
We were tight as real sibs could be..
But then you suddenly changed
I noticed you’ve gone so cold
You no longer speak to me or act the same
Where are the love and respect you showed?
Did I do anything wrong?
I honestly think I did not
I cared for you for so long
But it seems we’ve grown apart..
I tried everything to patch things up
But all you do is ignore me
I hold no grudges but I’ve given up
To bring everything the way we used to be..
When siblings reminisce, it's strange
Which memories they share.
Though certain details match,
Exact comparisons are rare.
Two of us can almost taste
That soggy toaster bacon;
Yet the third one's positive
That we must be mistaken.
Other memories bubble up;
We reach into our brains
To see which scenes have disappeared
And learn what truth remains.
Reality is tricky, though.
What meant a lot to me
Might not have mattered to my sibs
To quite the same degree.
The beauty of reunions is
The chance to reconnect.
In reaching back across the years,
We can't be circumspect.
And so we laugh, excluding all
Outside our sibling glue.
We slip into our younger selves,
As siblings often do.
But I am not surprised to see
That distance, time and age
Have not affected what to others
Might be hard to gauge:
That childhood's bond, still strong and tight,
Which fills me with affection,
Will always be, at least for me,
A permanent connection.
ruckus on my porch
perked my ears
last night
at the wicked hour I
flicked on the light
to hear
thumping and
chairs rattling
but in my window--
--no body
wayfaring thief
or wandering troll
must be hiding
crouching down
I know
more scared than smart
I opened the door
"Hey! Who the
f***'s out there?"
rumbling round
the side of my house
a fat javelina came
running out
and about eight more
on his tail
what the h***
little baby squealing
barely bigger than
a chihuahua
lost it's momma
and headed for
the road
and certain death
"come back" I cried
more scared
than smart I
ran after
and stopped
in my drive
when momma
came out
and met my eye
her little precious
found her
and its sibs
and left the danger
as I did
backwards climbing
steps to my door
"you could
do more,"
said the sweet city girl
I roll my eyes
"build a little
house for them
on your porch."
more scared
than smart
I smile at
that pretty voice
mute my phone
let out a laugh
unmute
"Yeah, I should
do that."
And along the way
catch a Starling
and teach it
to say
"nevermore"
all night and day
it can perch
on the porch
with the javelinas
and keep the
thieves and trolls
away
I’m almost out of flour
And my sugar’s at the end.
I do not have sweet butter
On which I, of course, depend.
Since I’m not going into stores,
I’m ordering from sites
That quickly get depleted
From competing appetites.
Yet with my grandma’s recipe,
Each Chanukah I bake
The cookies I grew up on,
Long and tedious to make.
I scraped together just enough
To make a smallish batch.
Most years I mail some to my sibs
But that I had to scratch.
Yet still, I rolled the dough and watched
The shapes take form and brown.
On Chanukah, I couldn’t let
My kids and grandkids down.
As the oldest child, I got to choose
Before my other sibs.
From where to sit or what to do,
I was awarded dibs.
The fact of being older meant
I had a certain clout
That might have caused resentment
But was always straightened out.
My younger grandchild, though, believes
Her status holds the keys
To open every door she can
Which “youngest” guarantees.
She doesn’t think it’s fair the order
Of her brother’s birth
Allows him any privileges,
But then, for what it’s worth,
If “oldest” has no value,
“Youngest” has to be the same.
Too bad there is no middle child
Around to fan the flame.
Seven newborn piglets
Clambered greedily to suck,
Six succeeding in their mission
While the runt was out of luck.
As their mother lay, exhausted,
All her babes knew what to do
Though the smallest was prevented,
By his sibs, in getting through.
We, the visitors, felt helpless
And were sounding the alarm,
But the workers weren't bothered
At the Quiet Valley Farm.
For, though "Charlotte's Web" thoughts hovered,
We hoped all would be okay
Since the farmers seemed quite trusting,
Letting Nature lead the way.
Flew down south to visit kin;
Two long years is what it’s been.
Thought we’d give this trip a spin –
Glad we got to do it.
Saw some sibs, an aunt, a cuz,
In-laws, too and one who was,
Plus two nephews, most abuzz
With shock – nobody knew it.
After springing the surprise,
We sat around ‘neath sunny skies
To laugh and chat and realize
That no one really blew it.
Since blood connections run real deep,
They’re worth the cost they take to keep
So I am glad we took the leap,
At last, to rendezvous it.