Best Trice Poems
SONNET FOR THE LITTLE GIRL WITH NO DOLL
Above the brook blue Damsels flit in dance
And bring to mind that little girl who’d pass
Long solitary hours with spellbound glance
Such simple joys gave solace, filled her glass
No doll for her, the solitude to fill
But she saw silken wings above the stream
That dart and flicker round each shining rill
And all alone gazed at the passing scene
Could you and I regain that fresh clean sight
And find contented bliss within the trice
Would we thereby accept and find delight
In life, perceive its gift beyond all price
Perhaps one of life’s secrets in this rhyme
Is: look, and live always in present time
I was reminiscin' the other day about times that were more sublime,
And got to thinkin' about those old stores called Kresge's Five and Dime.
I recall browsin' through Kresge's Stores as a lad with Mom and Dad.
There ain't no more Kresge's Stores as far as I know and that is very sad.
There was a Kresge's in every sleepy town along Main Street.
Sittin' on a stool at the lunch counter was always a special treat.
Munchin' on a hotdog and tater chips and then a slab of cherry pie,
Or maybe a sundae concocted by the soda jerk would lighten up my eye!
Notions galore were displayed on tables, bins, racks and shelves.
Friendly clerks stood by to help but folks generally helped themselves.
The cashier put yer money in a tube that sailed off into space,
And in a trice returned yer change from some mysterious place!
I recall the squeaky wooden floors and visitin' the store at Christmas time,
When Santa Claus doled out bags of candy to kids at each Five and Dime.
Alas, those neighborhood stores have been replaced by huge national chains,
And only pleasant memories of Kresge's Five and Dime Stores remains.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
I was damaged with a heart like ice.
You entered my life and in a trice
had melted my frozen layers
one by one. I've become
hot as a furnace next
your skin, my soul
twin. Let's begin
to live as one,
my dearest
honey
bun.
We live the way each trice gets less
From Azure’s hue and from its ray,
And my life’s rye-coloured shirt’s
Broider becomes a tow grey.
There pale the petals of the hour
Of lilies of the light and hope,
Still, stubbornly, I’m looking for
Some thing whose breath does never stop.
And, to all World, I tell the tales,
The tales I’ve never heard before,
To convince it that Aeon still
Does stay awake in our nights’ core!
That the death’s time was never born!
That Life is only truth, at length!
That either of them has a verge,
And solely Love is with no end…
A Chinese lad was at table dawdling with his pork and rice.
This upset his mama-san who reprimanded him in a trice!
"Clean your plate! Children in America are starving, son!"
And she continued to berate him - her tirade had only begun!
"Your papa-san has a great job while dads in America are on the dole.
Our economy is booming while that of America is lagging, on the whole!
Papa makes good money to provide Americans with the things they need.
You should be very thankful for the jobs they send here, yes indeed!"
"Kids in America can't get a job even with a college education,
But, son, America will provide you with a job in any old vocation!
This is the land of opportunity, my boy, thanks to American capitalists!
You must appreciate all they have done for us Chinese communists!"
"Not so long ago your father and I didn't have a yuan to our name.
Now we have a house and brand new car - life will never be the same!
So I don't want to hear any of your sass or fiddling with your food.
Thanks to the generous Americans, they have lifted our nation's mood!"
"I want you to clean your plate and grow strong to follow in your dad's shoes.
Uncle Sam needs you to make TVs and shirts or anything else they choose.
No more lip! Clean your plate! I want to see those chopsticks flying!
Think about the kids in America who'll got to bed tonight hungry and crying!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
It was the Main Street hangout for the teenagers of its day.
For a nickel they could dream as they heard the jukebox play!
Wispy white metal chairs surrounded tables topped with glass.
(There were secluded booths where lads could woo their lass!)
From the tin covered ceiling hung a fan with its whirring blade,
And arrayed along the soda fountain were the tools of the trade.
Symmetric white and black tiles covered the spotless floor.
A gleaming steel and marble counter completed its bright decor!
Presiding over all was a guy oddly named the "soda jerk."
Clad in impeccable white, he took great pride in his work.
He was a wizard at his craft and when his sorcery was done,
He'd whipped up a heavenly treat that couldn't be outdone!
A Hamilton mixer, scoops and ladles were the tools of his trade.
In a trice he'd make a root beer float or some tasty lemonade,
Hot fudge sundae, banana split, soda or strawberry shake,
Cherry coke or any such concoction you'd ask him to make!
The "soda jerk" did his duties with consummate skill and grace,
Always with a ready quip and a contented smile upon his face.
Fast food joints or drive-ins today do not have that elegant flair,
That yesteryear's soda fountains and ice cream parlors had to share!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
THE PENGUIN
Way down south on a continent frozen
The penguin a tough life has chosen
Though you’d think he’d be coy
Like a super-cool playboy
You’ll find him out preening and posin’
With movement on foot unexciting
He shuffles along then goes sliding
Though on land a slow coach
In depart or approach
In the water he goes like greased lightning
He’s a little short in the leg
Dressed bespoke (can’t wear off-the-peg)
Hand it to this ice capper
He always looks dapper
Even when he is hatching an egg
So the penguin’s no slouch, he’s a winner
By sartorial standards no sinner
He’ll emerge in a trice
From the Antarctic ice
Already dressed for dinner
EVERYONE KNOWS
Everybody knew that the earth was flat
There were lots of bumps so not flat as all that
Though ships seemed to sink out of sight in the distance
They would come back with reassuring persistence
But everyone agreed from the peasant to The Crown
Clearly up was up and down was down
They all knew that the earth was the Centre, the middle
Sun and stars all around, it couldn’t play second fiddle
Galileo demurred; didn’t fit his equations
But revised his opinion on powerful persuasions
So reality continued to veer from the actual
‘Till they could not deny all the evidence factual
The theories of Galen from centuries ago
Said blood moved in the body by ebb and by flow
Then Harvey discovered the blood’s circulation
Requiring that science give reconsideration
Though facts showed that Galen’s old theory was failin’
Some proclaimed that they would rather err with old Galen
Now everyone knows climate’s in bad transformation
Based mainly on computer model simulation
CO2 is now villain and viewed as a bane
Yet the plants and the trees relish more of the same
We are told it is true, scientists agree far and wide
Like when Earth was flat, and blood moved with the tide
But science is dominant, and considered unmalleable
Except that the scientists are human and fallible
Just like all human race they have weakness, will amend a
Set of data not fitting their venal agenda
Use your eyes, beware those things everyone knows
In a trice could be gone like the yesteryear snows
I still savor the thought of the zest that I caught
When you joined us that night after school.
Tara figured out why, since she’s so sage and sly;
She left early to show it was cool.
With her sis Tara-gon, Ginger sighed with a yawn,
“My, it’s late!” to clue in that nut-Meg.
“Would you look at the thyme!” came the reechoed chime,
With a wink from Corey-ander pal Peg.
Well, I felt like a god, though it seemed somewhat odd
That they all should jus’ curry, but hey,
When you gave me a smile as we two walked a while,
It dissolved my perplexed caraway.
In this teenagey bliss, I leaned in for a kiss,
Little knowing what I was against:
You demurred in a trice, “Though hot pepper is nice,
I insist that it’s parsley dispensed.”
With a panicky cast, I apologized fast
In my chili confusion and dread,
But I saw your eyes light, and we had a nice night
Holding hands at the cinnamon stead.
---
Credit where credit is due: I got the idea for this from Michael Wise's very original poem "A Spicy Story," posted here:
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/a_spicy_story_1100057
My first recall, is your beautiful hair
walking, elegance in grace you exude,
breathing sexy words to you, none were crude
loving words, could not show depths of my care.
I remember your unsteady glance
as I peered through the edges
of my windswept bangs
your words whispered
softly through dusk's breath
...even the horizon blushed
My lips, painted
temporarily parting
in the trice of a gleam
hid my sadness
momentarily
as your smile
allured the depths
of my sorrowful heart
Your smile, did this eager soul truly bless
as soothing vibes, found sad heart to invade,
my thought was, may this feeling never fade
forever yours, pure truth I did confess.
Love, those words, born of romantic fever
are as blossoms falling in gentle wind,
within that sweet image, time has no end
at first sight, I became a believer.
I was but a wilted flower
in a field of many
struggling to stand
barely visible
yet you noticed
and nourished me
Your laugh at my words, being on a dare
friend said, such a beauty- you have no chance
king or prince, but not you, never romance
then our kiss, showed him, a loving pair.
I remember his scorn
like a thorn, it pierced
the edges of fate
yet unsure
you still gambled
your heart
at stake
beneath
a kiss
A collaboration with Robert Lindley
Thank you Robert for the invitation to weave my musings into your beautiful poem...it was a pleasure!
Written: September 15, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In the halter of destiny, we are all bound.
A monody of souls dissemble and found
With every lynch of trice vicious hand,
We quest to the ossuary of the apex land.
Yet in this hoedown of life and death,
We descry trices to canonize our breath.
In the equidistant cuddle, we share,
We ascertain solace in the clad of despair.
Through brittle nights and rallying days,
We quest to unfetter from the maze.
Omega awaits to clarify our fate.
Ablaze of stinging anguish, we can't abate.
Inanimate entities, ephemeral, and plain,
As a ripple of anguish sways, weep in pain
Aside from that, the cosmic harbinger sky
Espies our destruction with a silent sigh.
An epidemic of metempsychosis,
We inherit the legacy of pestilence psychosis.
On hiemal days and hibernal nights,
We bear the stature of sorrow's bite.
In every epoch of fugacity,
We quest for repeal—a wink of clarity.
Bequeath and madness, we strive to overcome
Nocuous menace to switch what we've become.
We often embellish it as life is so anxious.
Our roots still hold the pinnacle to progress.
Decisiveness, anguish, and an urge to revoke.
Lead exposure us to a nonlethal stroke.
The dance of life and death is an exquisite art.
Delight and anguish entwine—never apart.
At the pinnacle of this poetic tale,
We ascertain that life's heirloom prevails.
Though pestilence and grief endeavor to bind,
We have the incite to bequeath them all behind.
So let us dance, with hearts bridled high.
Embracing the madness as we reach for the sky
The Truth And Blessing Of Love At First Sight
( A Collaboration with Sandra Adams )
( Rhyme And Free Verse, melded together )
My first recall, is your beautiful hair
walking, elegance in grace you exude,
breathing sexy words to you, none were crude
loving words, could not show depths of my care.
I remember your unsteady glance
as I peered through the edges
of my windswept bangs
your words whispered
softly through dusk's breath
...even the horizon blushed
My lips, painted
temporarily parting
in the trice of a gleam
hid my sadness
momentarily
as your smile
allured the depths
of my sorrowful heart
Your smile, did this eager soul truly bless
as soothing vibes, found sad heart to invade,
my thought was, may this feeling never fade
forever yours, pure truth I did confess.
Love, those words, born of romantic fever
are as blossoms falling in gentle wind,
within that sweet image, time has no end
at first sight, I became a believer.
I was but a wilted flower
in a field of many
struggling to stand
barely visible
yet you noticed
and nourished me
Your laugh at my words, being on a dare
friend said, such a beauty- you have no chance
king or prince, but not you, never romance
then our kiss, showed him, a loving pair.
I remember his scorn
like a thorn, it pierced
the edges of fate
yet unsure
you still gambled
your heart
at stake
beneath
a kiss
10/13/2019
Robert J. Lindley and Sandra Adams
a new collaboration... Rhyme and free verse...
Note-
My dear friend Sandra, I am both humbled and so very appreciative that
you agreed to write this new collaboration with me. As I knew well,
that your verses would sing out the beautiful lady's thoughts and replies
to her former lover and his sweet and sadly truthful memories of their time
together as very young lovers. With full account given of both the good and
the bad in life, just as we all know is often a sad reality... Our combination of his memories written in rhyme and her free verse replies represents the two graceful but very different natures of the former youthful lovers!
Again, you have my heartfelt thanks.. God bless...
Frayed border prints paste illusion,
worn-out inks swirling bleeds,
The hauls, stareways, persuasion,
privileged balconies.
Antiquities of read reviews,
claims of a rustic quill,
to scribbled marks a light verse muse,
and forever bestill.
I hear the silence of the slams,
satirical critics,
synthetic irony exams,
stardoms paralytics.
It dominates its point to rise,
where life did emanate,
afeared facade recital trice,
timeless collaborate.
A reenactment of Bo Peep,
tough be a ruminant.
My first part, blossom -- was a sheep,
I was magnificent.
Once upon a time I could change the oil and give the car a lube,
Tune the timing, change the plugs and patch an inner tube.
In days of yore I'd do simple jobs beneath the old elm tree.
Nowadays, I daren't twist a wrench without an engineer's degree!
In olden days things were simple to work on beneath the hood.
Stuff crammed under the hoods today is not at all understood!
Why! You must pull the doggone engine to fix a simple leak,
And everything is diagnosed by a smart-alecky computer geek!
Now I can't even locate the spark plugs, I must humbly confess,
And where the life-sustaining battery reposes is anybody's guess!
I must even contact the local garage to get the radiator filled.
'Tis plain to see that all is governed by the national mechanic's guild!
In simpler times the way to detect an errant rod and piston knock,
Was to put a screwdriver to your ear and listen through the block.
Nowadays, technicians lounge about with computers in their paws,
And in a trice can flesh out your automobile's ailing flaws!
Back then, I could replace brake linings and distributor caps,
Change a fan belt or replace a gasket or two perhaps.
But all these fancy gadgets are beyond me - I can't figure them out.
So I'll gnash my teeth and sit beneath the spreading elm and pout!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Continued from Part 1
The trees, they hang in time and space around me –
trees, which in time before had swayed,
so gently tugged by ocean breezes,
trees, which in time before were lightly lit
with emerald tinted leaves,
trees, which in time before had reached to space above
with twisted tangled fingers,
grasping fingers,
fingers drenched with golden tears
shed by the Mighty Eye.
The trees, they hang in space and time,
benumbed and frozen motionless around me
chilled with rooted premonitions of the void,
their branches clutching darkness
and their leaves foreboding doom.
The muted winds begin to whisper tales
of many frightened things,
which, with mournful apprehension
have hunkered down behind the haze
and ceased their joyful play.
And all the while dank shadows gaily dance
a dismal dance,
for their time is soon to come.
The fitful shore lies suddenly still.
Unfeeling stones and hollow shells,
are paused a little,
stalled,
and dropped haphazardly,
midst their mindless random journey,
now abandoned by the sea,
for fickle waves have slipped away
to greet a falling prey.
And as the Mighty Eye droops lower,
laminated molten lips
are pursed and pucker higher,
sucking in the sky.
Within a trice the Mighty Eye
submits and squints, distended red,
perhaps tormented by fantastic thoughts
of imminent demise,
or else of being lashed beneath a lid
of distant faithless waves.
And as her dying flash dissolves,
two lurid lips arise,
three lusty lips -
a thousand parted limpid lips
which asudden,
though with little haste,
consume the Mighty Eye.
EPILOGUE
The trees are now but lurking shades
amongst the murky shadows.
Relentless fog slips slowly by -
her floating tongues drip silence
as they slink like snakes in stealth nearby.
The lacerated faithless lips have once again returned
to kiss the vacant vapid shores
in a brief eclipse of time.
END