Best Swains Poems
THE SWAINS
Under cumulus clouds, grew cauliflowers.
He planted them with love because I adorn them when they were harvested to the table of healthy man, my husband; sons; and brothers.
All were vegetable farmers of California.
We woman loved cooking for them.
They say there never was a better meal than this one every time we cooked.
That was each day of the yield.
Spirits were high as hell.
The profits were insurmountable.
They increased each year.
The sunshine brightly and this eased our fears.
We became wealthy and retired well.
Our children went off into the world.
Both sons became Attorneys of Law.
_____________________________|
Penned on October 30, 2014!
Categories:
swains, appreciation, farm, good morning,
Form:
Free verse
"Steamboat is a-comin' 'round the bend!"
My! Oh my! The wonders it might portend,
As it stopped by sleepy towns along the Missisip',
Dodgin' stumps and wayward rafts on its monthly New Awlins trip!
Its arrival was heralded by the town drunk who had nothin' else to do,
And the denizens who didn't flock to the wharf were very, very few!
The steamboat 'General Custer' was indeed a spectacular sight,
With fancy-topped stacks and palatial pilot house painted red and white!
The pilot rang the big brass bell, then folks began a frenzied rush.
The first mate let fly some dirty words - 'twould make a teamster blush!
He had ten minutes to lade his cargo and didn't suffer fools gladly.
Passengers scrambled on and off the boat fightin' each other madly!
There was a colorful parade of characters disembarkin' from the boat:
There came a preacher man clutchin' his Bible wearin' a black frock coat;
A soiled dove slithered ashore much to the delight of the local swains;
Followed by a shifty-eyed gamblin' dude with intent to swell his gains!
Drays, carts, horses and men vied for space to unload their freight,
Fightin' and cussin' and the mate hollerin', "Hustle! Hustle! It's a-gittin' late!"
The pilot rang the big brass bell and the steamboat was on its way agin'.
Til next boat, the drunkard is on the skids agin' guzzlin' his jug o' gin!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Categories:
swains, boat, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
I have in my possession an object I really prize.
It belonged to two guys whom I really idolize.
'Twas a necessary device when straight razors were the fad.
'Tis the leather razor strop used by my Grandpa and Dad.
Its precise genesis is really difficult to gauge,
But it's certainly well over a century old in age.
It shows the scars as they went to all the trouble,
To hone their razors to rid their mugs of stubble!
I can picture them as young swains shaving before the mirror,
With a steady hand trying not to nick an ear.
With a brush and soap to apply lather to their face,
Later to meet their sweeties decked out in ribbons and lace!
Now I never thought of a razor strop in relation to education,
But Mom found a novel use for it much to my mortification.
When I became rowdy and tended not to mind,
That cold, hard strop was generously applied to my behind!
I will pass the old strop along to a subsequent generation,
With vivid tales of Mom's expertise in its application!
This only to add to family knowledge and lore,
But to use on tender behinds never, never more!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
swains, family, funny, old, old,
Form:
Rhyme
Guess which star I am looking at and there let
your gaze and mind dwell,
So if our bodies cannot lie together at least our
minds will!
For sweetly as the flesh of swains and maids
repose in a common embrace,
Just so do our minds repose in common thoughts;
And as brim with gaiety two weary heads on a
shared pillow,
Just so do our eyes delight in common celestial
sights.
Categories:
swains, loneliness, love, romance,
Form:
Free verse
‘Cause, Priests and Prophets Must Pray for The Reign…
and for Pre and Post-Op-Apocalyptic–Novocain ! …
Yet… It Doesn’t Matter, What Distress to You
On the Planet, however Polluted or Profane
It Doesn’t Matter, What Distress to You
Wherever the Delusional -Dimensional Plane
It Doesn’t Matter, What Distress to You
Or Danger-Plot, Prison-Door or Deepest Pain
Or Present-Defeat, or Darkest-Hours-View
even Thru Dying-Breath, Devout Prayers Proclaim
to Be Delivered- New, True, and Pulled-Thru
to Claim The Prize of Life-Perpetually-Sustained
… For Particularly, By God’s Unpronounceable Power
Thru His Son’s Unparallel- Principal-Purchase… Dower
God’s Dependents and Dreamers Will Prosper-Gain
The Prophecy, The Promise, The Paradise-Preordained
The Perfect-Future and The Victory-Parade
… The Distant, Destiny of Eden – Never Been Doused Nor Degrade
Then… It Won’t Matter…So, Please Dismiss The Paltry-Strain
The Days of The Deformity and Damage-Train
Will Be In The Past … Departed-Detained
Disaster and Disloyal Will Lay In A Destroyed-Plain
Damned For All Of Time –Proliferate-Blamed
A Suppository-Prophylactic-Puddle-Shame
Patience-Persevering…Demands Punishment - Prediction-Sang…
… Final-Draft …Stop-The-Presses!... Poll-Loudly-Refrains
When You Really Discern and Pragmatically-Attain
The Divine God and His Son’s King- Domain
Publicize Their Progenitor and Predominant Names
and Preach and Deify Like-Doting-Platoon-Swains,
with Pedestal-Passion and ‘Plum-Plumb’, Persistence-Ingrained
For On Position-Comparison, We ‘All’ Pale-to- A-Feigned …
…Puppets and Peons and Dim-Witted-Parasitic-Great Danes
and Dopamine Defective, Demerol Addicted – Darwin-Poisoned-Sprains
Disoriented-Drivel, Droll-Drooling-Inane
or Just-Plain ol’ Dire-Derelicts-Insane
(and now… I have a P D Q,… for Me and You… Migraine)
Oh… May They Accept This Poor-Placard-Crane
Amen… Again… Amen
Categories:
swains, allegory, dedication, devotion, faith,
Form:
Alliteration
The Lay of Sir Donald
(Or: Le Chanson de Donald)
An orange man – of red and trailing tie,
Small hands, and copious twitter-feed – sing I!
Most staunch ’gainst Saracen and Mede is he,
Bare-armed and ruddy-necked his followers be.
Brightly he barteth, and knows how, full well,
In sev’n-score characters his truth to tell.
Courtly he is to nymphs – yea, most correct –
And any contradictions he’ll reject:
Talk of “ailuric rapture”, he maintains,
Was nothing more than banter between swains.
And though, by direst foe as “dotard” shamed –
By REGAL liege-man “moron”, too, proclaimed –
He’s shunned by ANGELA, the Teuton queen
For policies much nearer black than green,
He’s loved by VIKTOR, chief of Magyar horde,
And (still?) VLADIMIR, Muscovy’s dark lord.
But all now tremble at his reckoning,
In Orient far, with JONG the Hermit King.
Tis hard to know whose head is the more beefy
Or whose hair more eccentric’ly coiffefe.
“Since in ballistics you indulge, and fission,”
Quoth he, “Let us contend in micturition.
My country’s armoury is locked and loaded
To make yours but a wilderness,” he goaded.
You doubt he sets his cap at Tyranny?
That risk of Bloody Warre augmented be?
As well to doubt the POPE’S denomination,
Or Silvan Sites of Ursine Defecation!
Categories:
swains, funny, political,
Form:
Political Verse
Walk side with me to a valley,
And we shall be yonder pleasures of heavens light,
Of whose firmament, hills, groves, shining woods presume wonder.
And we will weight off our feet upon the hills,
Seeing swains tends to their torn flocks,
Quails harping to harmonic tunes,
And we shall made mat of Ambrosia,
With fragrant from Acacia, Aster, Azalea and Arum,
A hat of Begonia and a Larkspur crème,
Cross-stich with the bark of yellow birch.
Which through our intimate loving lay rest,
A metal slipper for the snows,
With buckle fashioned from alloyed silver,
An apple from Janna,
If suited thee
Walk side with me to a valley.
The tunes of heaven shall we dance,
A coffee for your morning
If such picture delights thy heart, move
Walk with me to the valley, and be my Joy.
Categories:
swains, fantasy, girlfriend-boyfriend, happiness, hopeme,
Form:
Pastoral
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That valleys, groves, hills and fields,
Woods or steepy mountains yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair-lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.
The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning;
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
Categories:
swains, loveme, may, me,
Form:
In November when frost was on the punkin and corn was stacked in shocks,
And the snows began to fall and geese flew southward in V-shaped flocks,
'Twas time to gather in the corn for a huskin' bee on the old barn floor,
Where neighbors gathered to have some fun and fulfill a vital chore!
Ma slaved over her wood-burnin' stove to provide fixin's for the event.
Pa and the boys squeezed apples makin' cider, hopin' it would soon ferment.
Lanterns were hung from beams and baled hay was there for seatin',
And Ma confiscated Pa's saw-horse table to spread the vittles for eatin'.
Folks arrived in scores by horse and buggy, some by open sleigh,
Tetherin' their steeds to hitchin' posts after feedin' them oats and hay.
The bee began with the belles and swains huskin' corn by the bushel.
Findin' a red ear of corn among the yellow was deemed so very crucial,
Since that person rated a kiss whether a lovely belle or the local cad!
The huskin' done and corn scooped away, there was more fun to be had.
The floor was swept for dancin' to the music of a fiddle and mandolin.
Good grub, fun and fellowship reigned til the wee hours of morn, therein!
Even grandpa and grandma were seen squar' dancin' which was neat.
The rafters of the old barn shook to the beat of dancin' and shufflin' feet!
Ain't no fun anymore since corn is husked and shelled in one fell-swoop,
By a dude and his corn-pickin' rig even without the aid of a scoop!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Categories:
swains, humorous, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
Unbearable beauty in brown
Was Lily the toast of the town.
She had such a fine air
With her brown auburn hair
As she danced in brown velvet gown.
The swains were swooning for her.
A few fisticuffs did occur.
But Lil had her brown eye
Upon one certain guy
And danced on, ignoring the stir.
Handsome to her as George Clooney,
Taller by far than Mick Rooney,
Perfection to her eyes.....
She sighed so many sighs,
Her partner thought she was swoony.
He asked if she wanted to sit.
She answered, "Oh yes, just a bit."
Directing him to chair
With her favored one near,
She sent him some water to get.
Unbearable beauty in brown
Was no longer there, sitting down.
She was oozing with charm
Clinging to Handsome's arm.
Deserted he stood like a clown.
The water he threw in her face.
Now she is the one in disgrace.
When with water pelted
Her cheap brown gown melted
She's disrobed to panties of lace.
The handsome one truly disdains,
The sight of her varicose veins.
He leaves without warning.
It's four in the morning.
No trace of her beauty remains.
There's a moral to this small tale
That young men should heed without fail.
If the beauty you see
Is not all it should be
Then it's wise like Handsome, to bail.
Categories:
swains, betrayal,
Form:
Light Verse
Fate Of Mankind...
(this prognosticator ordains,
which if came to pass no brains)
necessary to impress any
goo goo dolls, nor swains!)
Cited in crosshairs of thermonuclear warfare
quite an about face from bursts of creativity,
yet omnipresent palpable threat everywhere
unlike sangfroid hermitage within Abbey air
habitués hosting religious peacemongers care
ring about spiritual well being, nsync by prayer
regular quotidian discipline dissociating scare
re: global apocalyptic genocidal holocaust sear
ring significant sinister malevolent electioneer
macabre mushroom clouds vitiating atmosphere
burnt offerings charred flora and fauna cohere
glommed together undifferentiated pulverized
conglomeration bespeaks devastated biosphere
survivors (if any) few and far between gallows
humor, sans mockery former Amazon billionaire
irrelevant wealth superfluous banked nightmare
*****sapiens like mummified zombies blinded by
light, eclipsed contaminated heavily sheltering sky
succor solemn deliverance bombed appallingly revere
inescapable damn earth bottled genii raiment austere
foretold prophecy regarding Doomsday clock spare
ring extra crispy char broiled ribs aplenty profiteer
awaiting her/him able to make a killing apprenticed
savvy entrepreneur opportunity, though no cashier
to pay, hence former Trumpeting strictly volunteer
job with bone fried benefits superior than Medicare
accompanied by death as fine companion buddy sincere
need not be grave concern, so minus annihilation and air
choking stench, viz total extinction moonscape sphere
flora obliterated only scorched landmarks thoroughfare,
humongous bajillion shades of gray cremated vaporware
vague hint former edifice Taj Mahal wanting consigliere
so opportunities galore to look as smoking hot fleshpot
overactive imagination helpful to conjure all in the
family Maude Lynn good times MASHup of yesteryear!
Categories:
swains, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Tired going here and there,
Tired of being aware!
Sick of building useless hopes,
Sick of being on unstable slopes!
Vexed facing disappointment,
Vexed keeping perseverant!
Done carrying on,
Done being cheated on!
Special thanks to all my swains;
Those who cured, or racked my strain,
A new stage has just broke ground,
A Point of view is switching around
Only success is what I'll brace,
From today, till blue in the face!
Categories:
swains, adventure, age, confusion, courage,
Form:
ABC
Who is Tokollo ?
what is he ?
That all our swains commend him ?
holy,smart and ravishing is he;
the heaven such grace did lend him,
that he might be admired be.
Is he fair as he is holy ?
for beauty lives with holiness;
love doth to his eyes repair,
to help him with his poems
and,being help'd,inhabits there.
Then to Tokollo let us sing,
that Tokollo is excelling;
he excels each mortal thing,
upon the dull earth dwelling:
to him let us garlands bring.
Categories:
swains, cute love,
Form:
ABC
There was once an old spinster named Ruth
Who was renowned for stretching the truth
"Tho' many young swains wooed me,
I could have married" said she,
"But found them lecherous and uncouth!"
Categories:
swains, humorous, marriage,
Form:
Limerick
MONDAY’S GIRL
Monday’s girl
Blessed with beauty’s kiss
So fair of face
Do swains’ heartbeats miss?
As suitors court
For her hand in wedded bliss
TUESDAY’S GIRL
Tuesday’s girl
Gracefully elegant
Slender and lithe
In form and movement
Struts the catwalk
For an outrageous payment
WEDNESDAY’S GIRL
Wednesday’s girl
So full of woe
How does fickle love
Mistreat you so
Sad Wednesday girl
Left with red eyes
By unfaithful love
For whom she cries
Oh Wednesday girl
Weeping for her lover
Don’t waste your tears
You will find another
THURSDAY’S GIRL
Thursday’s girl
Ticket in hand
Adventurous travel
Has been planned
For her sojourn
To a foreign land
FRIDAY’S GIRL
Friday’s girl
For loving you yearn
But you are too giving
When will you learn?
SATURDAY’S GIRL
Saturday’s girl
Thinks only of work
No time to live
No appetite to shirk
Work is her life
Her own personal heaven
Seven days a week
Twenty four seven
But when she looks back
At the end of her days
Will she regret?
Her workaholic ways
SUNDAY’S GIRL
Sunday’s girl
So sweet and lovely
A blithe spirit
Light hearted and carefree
Sunday’s girl
Innocently happy
Virtuous and chaste
And perfectly pretty
Categories:
swains, people
Form: