Best Snoozes Poems
~
If I gave you my heart on a big silver platter
would you sit with me here at the edge of the moon
Arranging the stars in a musical pattern
singing along as they whistle their tune
Then could we climb to the top of the tower
counting each step that we touched as we rose
Looking out over the valley in slumber
trying to guess every dream that they chose
Maybe then sail on an ocean of petals
riding each wave made of marigold leaves
Dropping our anchor just next to the garden
tied to a web that an old spider weaves
Or we might pick up a brush filled with laughter
painting a kite on the chuckling skies
Run with the string as a masterpiece follows
chasing a tail laced with blue butterflies
Kiss in a rainstorm of umbrella whispers
splashing in puddles reflecting your smile
Wake up the sun as it snoozes till lunchtime
rest in the shade holding hands for a while
If I gave you my heart on a big silver platter
showing you life is a beautiful view
Promising all you could ever imagine
would you give your heart on a big silver platter… too
~
Midnight lavender echoes whisper,
As the song of the rooster fades.
Mauve tackles the sky with a blush,
Curly coral clouds are dressed in buffed bronze shades.
Ebony snoozes in the round,
As the moon takes center stage.
Stars twinkle as diamonds in the sky,
And the night is peaceful page.
In the nocturnal retreat,
Nature's symphony plays on.
The rustling of leaves in the breeze,
And the distant hoot of an owl's song.
The world is quiet and still,
As if holding its breath in awe.
And in this tranquil moment,
All worries and fears withdraw.
In the nocturnal retreat,
There is a sense of calm and peace.
A reminder that in the darkness,
There is still beauty and release.
June 06, 2023
Birth: Cradle. Diapers. Mess. Cries.
First: Word. Step.
Sneezes. Doctor. Parents Doting Over. Brother/Sister...
Kindergarten: Swing. Toys. Daily Snoozes. Lunches.
School: Teachers. Marks. Principle and Misdemeanors.
Games. Yard. Ball. Tripping. Crutches. Bed.
Fights. Broken Nose. Blood. Makeups. Forgiveness.
Neighborhood. Friends. Hangouts. Drinks and Smokes.
Girls. Parties. Show off - Pretense. Kisses. Finally: Sex.
College: More Kisses. Sex. Spring. Winter. Summer.
Sessions. Tails. Beer. More Beer. Vodka. Gin with ice.
Coffee. Night Sessions. Finally Diploma.
Thereafter: Work. Love. Starry Sleepless Nights.
Unending Conversations. Proposal. Wedding. Marriage.
Mother In Law. Father In Law. Sudden Relatives.
Conversations. Advice How To Live. Trapped.
Quarrels. Clubs. Friends. Alcohol: Boy Nights.
Often Repeated.
Make ups. Birth. Cradle. Diapers. Mess. Cries.
First: Word. Step.
Sneezes. Doctor. Sleepless Nights.
Doting Over. Son/Daughter...
Possibly Repeated.
Stress. Mistress. Bed. Possibly Repeated.
Business. Money. Planning. Overspending.
Job: Overtimes At Work. Scheming For Advancement.
Finally Achieved. Jobless. Multiply Repeated.
Old Age. Grandson/Granddaughter.
Diapers. Cradle. Kindergartens. Schools.
Universities. Stress. Pressure.
“Grandparents: Help!” Possibly Repeated.
Retirement. Migraine. Glasses. Heart.
Kidneys. Lungs. Bones. Doctor. Bed.
Death. Speech. Coffin. Goodbye. Crying.
The yards behind the shearing shed are overgrown with grass
And the fence posts look a little worse for wear
There’s cobwebs on the tractors that are sitting all forlorn
And a farm cat snoozes gently on a chair
The boards have not been trodden by a shearer’s boot for years
But the remnants of their trade lie on the floor
A dull and rusty hand piece was left hanging on the wall
And an old grey fleece is draped across a door
A fridge that held refreshments for the shearers long ago
Stands rusting in the corner on its own
Some wool bales from the final clip are sitting in a pile
And the wind whips through the rafters with a moan
The only sign of movement is the farm cat getting up
It must be time to go and hunt for tea
As she slinks between the barrels that are holding up the floor
It’s time for mice to hide, or turn and flee
A drowsy looking blowfly buzzes lazily around
And the morning slowly turns to afternoon
Then the purple shades of evening slide across the waving fields
And the shearing shed is bathed beneath the moon
Then somewhere in the darkness you can hear the shearer’s ghosts
you can hear them clipping long into the night
Cries of ‘fleece off!’ are competing with the bleating of the sheep
but silence reigns again come morning light
And the shed just goes on rusting underneath the summer sun
And the termites come and chew upon the boards
And the spiders in the tractors go on spinning silken webs
And the shearer’s ghosts are undisputed lords
From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"
Leo living large
Lion lying in his lair
Big belly bloated
Zebra and Zebu
Warily watching, worried
Ready to run
Fatigued full feline
Snoozes in the savannah
Animals amble
For Chris D. "Aechtner's Alliterative" Haiku contest.
Softly she snoozes
While the wide world whirls wildly
Never noticing
(fun with combining senryu and alliteration)
There on the couch she snoozes and lay
Easing her back from a tiresome day,
Put on music to entice her imaginations
And there in the forest she found herself in deep hallucination...
Then he comes, with a picnic basket on his hand
Blanket, aged wine and a flower which is rare of its kind,
Laid the blanket on the ground and summon her to come
By his side, be with him as they watch the sunset this time.
Wine tasted their lips as they have the first sip
Adoringly look at each other with love so deep,
Their hands meet, as he bends for a kiss
Profound happiness is felt they don't wanna miss!
Yet blessings of rain comes dropping in
They run for shelter, giggling hand in hand,
Off they haste and find a shelter under a tree
Shiver in coldness, closer than close they ease in glee!
Frogs croak and dance at nearby pond
Singing merrily they seem have fun,
At the wetness and coldness the rain brings
Yet coldness draws them naughty as they do the deed!
Hmn…they look at each other and naughty smiles seen on their lips
She wink at the thought and he knows what it is
They have same thoughts, same lOve, and same lUst
Same wanting to fill their longing deeper than deep they hope to last.
So at same rhythm as the frogs keep on singing
They too felt same rhythm of their deep urges and wanting,
Letting their body melt at profound heat, oh, so amazing
As they kiss and move and touch with same rhythm!
But alas! One frog leaps on them, indiscreetly croaking
Hmn…better run then and continue the rhythm
There is a good place waiting
Where damn naughty frogs could not disturb their mating!
Inner Whispers
(Ha ha! Dedicated to my FROG PRINCE! (wink!) T'was fun making this.)
May all sacred,
but not quite omnipotent,
fathers learn this day
as we impatiently correct
our stress-disordered sons
That respect is earned,
so maybe disrespect is too
positive and negative layered
for and against authority
for and sometimes restlessly against
repeating Business As Usual
white middle-class dadisms:
You snooze
you lose
May apply to your lethargic
chronically anxious
thuggish
couch-surfing
cannabis-fed son
And yet feels counter-intuitive
for babies
and us great grandads
who need our outside rest
away from commercial
too lit up
and loud
and relentlessly plastic
inhumane degradations
In such a rabidly anxious hurry
to wait for inevitable pandemics
and genocide,
floods
hurricanes
tsunamis
forest fires
drought
dry river beds
famine
insomnia
rabidity
insurance company bankruptcy
government balkanization
supremacist tribalism
Silent self-medicating snoozes
feels like a healthy alternative to:
capitalist narcissism
anthro-supreme monotheism
monoculturing nationalism
painful survivalist isolation
demented diseases
species extinctions
self v other criminalizations
weaponizations
May feel like hoarding safety
for defense-oriented males
on a bad day
in a depressing moment
Become
yackity yack disrespectful
feeling entitled to rightwing exclusively define
"real [unwoke narcissistic] men."
Yet quietly hiding
under these sacredly respected
and secular unrespected unsuspecting layers
of diverse manhood hues and warring cues
lie traumatizing patriarchal cultures.
Capital co-invested resilient climates
prefer cooperatively active integrity
over passive faith-based respect
and dramatically traumatic disrespect
and unenlightened
stress-triggered verbal unrespect
accelerating competitions,
dis-integrity
unhealthy desecrating excommunications.
Consecrating sacred solidarity feelings
learned today
converge synergetic need/want supportive
resonant polyvagal
resilient communication systems
searching for win/win reconnections
Even when sometimes disrespectfully correcting
my pre- and post-traumatic
stress disordered father
son.
Drapes are closed but the sun gets through
Summer morning, birds a-tweeting
Sweat on sheets, personal dew
Two more snoozes then up for meeting
A chunk of mahogany
Surrounded by suits
Well-shaved chins
Playing silk flutes
Golden cuff links
Slide over shine
Reaching for Perriere:
Businessman's wine
The big-haired girl
With tight lips and skirt
With clipboard and pen
In a roomful of men
She manages managers
Directs the directors
Away from the P's and Q's they might blurt
When minutes are taken
They while away hours
In a concrete maze
With the rented flowers
The plastic shag carpet
The paper thin walls
The wood-textured desk
Holding five clacking balls
The photo of daughter
The drawing by son
The lunch packed by wife:
Ham and cheese in a bun
Like a silent fire drill
At four-thirty flat
The lifts are sardined
With impersonal chat
All hoping to beat
The motorized fleet-
The Mercedes armada
That trawls down their street
Curtains open, sun goes down
A day in credit, a night in debt
A silent pillow away from town
Night light off, alarm clock set
The Woman
You are a goddess without a shrine
The mystery we all adore.
The woman.
That myth in your look
Which men gaze in awe
To see your face and gape in waves
In whom, resides the world we live.
The woman.
The wisdom embroidered of your age
Sad not or whistle for wrinkles in your face
Because in that wrinkles are my kindles.
The woman.
With whom strangeness lives and bore
But whom the envy of men abhor
But you she treats with love.
The woman.
Beginning of life with death adores
The conqueror of men and his bluffs
The fertility he envies.
The woman,
To whom affection snoozes and oozes
Yet in passion, the man made whore
To whom forgiveness made a goddess.
The scent of love you are
Woman, a goddess without a shrine.
My opponent will destroy democracy
But my opponent will normalize hypocrisy
My opponent pays hush money to whores
Well, my opponent snoozes in meetings and snores
My opponent’s in cahoots with radical progressives
But my opponent’s tax cuts are regressive
My opponent is in bed with Putin
Well, my opponent for Iran is rootin’
My opponent’s spending will stoke inflation
But my opponent’s plans will increase starvation
Enough! Stop! Cut! Halt!
It’s not all the other guy’s fault
All this negativity makes one thing clear
I’m voting for the first candidate I can cheer
Weave my blanket snug,
With the fleeciest, graded wool,
Matted thicker than a rug,
Use the finest wooden hand loom,
On a shuttle winded with double woof,
To keep the closely knitted warp strong,
Interlocked, sturdily along the weft.
Use no materials synthetic,
To spoil the woven yarn,
Or mar my dreams with static.
Let the weavers wool be of quality skein,
With no loose or fluffy stuff,
When I with my dreams ascend
In bliss, and kept warm enough,
As I with the night-time, blend.
So bless me with snuggles snore,
and dreaming, snoozes galore.
Some folks complain that rainy days get them down in the dumps,
Causin' depression and a dreadful case of the grumps!
But I relish rainy days, cozily ensconced by the fire,
And rain peltin' my window pane, a sound of which I never tire!
Even though the day is cloudy and somewhat drear,
Absorbed in a good book and listenin' to music brings me cheer.
Why would I want to do anything else, as I stifle a yawn;
Besides, the welcome rain is needed for my thirsty lawn!
I s'pose I could catch up on chores that I've left undone,
But just thinkin' about that doesn't sound like much fun.
I'll just procrastinate, meditate and watch the world pass by.
Should the telephone ring, I don't even think I'll reply!
The storm intensifies, the gale lashes around the house,
As I, contented, have coffee and reminisce with my spouse.
Simba the cat snoozes in his usual place nigh the hearth.
Later, he hops in my lap, purrin' for all he's worth!
I'm gonna relax and listen to the rain's soothin' serenade,
As it continues to pelt my windows in a blindin' cascade,
For I know that tomorrow these simple pleasures I must forego;
Alas, I'll have the garden to weed and that pesky lawn to mow!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Honorable Mention in the "Monsoon Storms" Contest - June 2010
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Honorable Mention in "Monsoon Storm" Contest - June 2010
I sit here relishing
a custard-filled
and chocolate-topped
choux bun.
If I had a trumpet
I’d surely blow it.
It seems that I’m
“An Emerging Poet”
and, icing on the cake,
I’ve “got potential”.
Imagine my elation
at such an unexpected
elevation. My many years
of scribbling, so long
unheralded, unheard,
pleasing but me and me alone,
and now at last the gods atone
for past disdain
and disappointment.
Yet even as I contemplate
my new persona, I surely know
a day of reckoning awaits.
In old age now, my words
grow trite and rusty.
I fear that, sitting here,
awaiting inspiration
for yet another new creation,
my rhyming days are almost done
and, truth be told, I’d rather have
another deliciously inspiring bun,
to be followed by, maybe, just perhaps,
another of my afternoon naps.
Cold weather front
A few good days fooled us the cold weather returned we thought it was
early spring. I worried if my almond tree had its buds been damaged
and will not bloom and strews petals on the lane,
the illusion of frost, the princes in the tower saw in the fairy tale.
The fire in the grate is exuding warmth the dog no one owns snoozes in a chair,
no, the heart to throw it out
I’m not a tree hugger, but give trees a friendly slap
a sucker for the down and out bought a chicken for a Roma women
begging outside, the guard said, “you must not feed
them” like they should be vermin.
I love my almond tree reminded me of my mother when she was old,
so sweet her face in her frailty.