Best Wads Poems
like visitors from outer space
they came with tears, and lined the sidewalk
long in face, and arms embracing
some (I have no inkling) who
they were or why they felt compelled to come
dozens came with casseroles
a few with flowers, wads of tissues
tender words of helpless mutterings
many acts of generous offerings
don't get me wrong, I watched the suffering
expressed in words or acts of kindness
I watched it all, and felt the love
did not dismiss the warm compassion
returned it all, with pure compliance
a thankful heart, a swollen throat
I hugged these strangers at the door
to comfort them, who shed their tears
upon my shoulder, offered them
a place to share their sympathies
a place to spend their mercy, pure
but, this was my child who loved and lost
impossible........I can't express it
protected from the very start, by
loving hands, her dad's and mine,
we watched her grow, and let her go
she grew from the vine ....into a rose
but life composed a tragedy, with goals
beyond our reach...beyond belief
beyond our wildest dreams
and left her with a loss beyond control
like visitors from outer space, we watch
as others come, and others go
they blow into their tissue wads
and empty the boxes one by one
and cry with us, and then they all go home...
do we cry........? Oh no, not yet...
instead we smile a grateful smile
and thank them kindly for the while
and for the ways they share their love
but we can't cry into our own clenched wad
of tissue from the tissue box
she needs us to be strong, somehow
and so that is the way it is, we vow...to hold back all the tears for now
for, this was my child who loved and lost
impossible........I can't express it
__________________________________________
4/12/13
EIGHT
A deliberate surprise
A shove from the back
while creating artwork
in my second-grade class
Perhaps an ocean scene
A distant angry memory
of my eight-year-old
consciousness
The broken waxy blue crayon
in my right hand
Before me the ripped orange
construction paper and
a scattered image
Girl bully momentarily
reigned behind me
her face encircled with
frantic spirals….
a golden mane
My neck flashed heat
and then a cold sweat
I challenged her to a fight
In the girl’s bathroom
that day
Pale turquoise tiled walls
screamed at me
as I entered the ring
Staring up I saw a field of wilting flowers….
wads of scrunched up soapy paper towels
hurled up at the ceiling where they clung and
appeared as corpses threatening to fall down
on me at any moment
The pungent thick air of girl
bodies surrounded me….
A hungry lion appeared with
open mouth ready to strike
Tightly wrapped around each other
A blur
A blow to my right side
A second to my stomach
Descending to my knees
catching my breath
Rising up I landed an efforted
blow on her left cheek
An explosion within her wild
starving eyes filled with
superpower magnetism
The pounce
The strike
My body collapsed…
the blue tiles hugging me
Sounds of silence
Distant voices of teacher adults
dispersing the crowd
Inside the small stall
crumpled body crying
on the toilet seat
head on my knees
salty tears cascading
Tasting them now
With armor and shield
bleeding …dented and broken
my heart and soul
rejoiced
Today, meandering through the clutter of the local antique store,
I almost tripped and fell over an object partially hidden on the floor!
My hands came to rest on an old-fashioned school desk sitting there.
It reminded me of the one I occupied in my school days, I do declare!
My thoughts drifted back through the misty past to reminisce and ponder.
As I caressed its oaken surface with my fingers, I began to wonder.
Did it once grace a simple one-room prairie schoolhouse in Indiana?
Might it have come from a rustic schoolroom in the state of Montana?
The slanting top of the old desk was scratched and with ink was stained.
I saw faint initials carved by an idle lad whose attention span had waned!
The varnish was worn off the folding seat by many a squirming kid.
Wads of chewing gum still adorned the underside of the folding lid!
I recalled sitting at one of those uncomfortable desks trying to stay awake!
As Miss Ruth droned on and on, all I could think of was the recess break!
The room reeked of oranges and fried egg sandwiches we'd bring to munch.
Kids of means paid a dime to eat finer fare in the lunchroom for their lunch!
I recalled the thwack on my knuckles of Miss Ruth's ruler to get my attention,
And what awaited me at home for misbehavior with growing apprehension!
(A clerk noting my glazed eyes asked, "May I help you sir? Is anything amiss?"
"Nah", I replied. "If you please, I'd like to stand here awhile and reminisce!")
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Everybody bears a price tag
Claim tycoons with bottomless purses
With a plethora of dollars to flash and flag
About to entice simpletons who deem their lives struck by curses
Inserted in their DNA
Generations ago
Which render them incapable to shove away
Bets of cash their stricken spines can’t forgo
While stomachs groan and lips
Demand smartphones, mascaras and lipsticks
Deployed to slay chaps with wanton whips
That cut and slice with savage kicks
On pates gone wan with insomnia
As limousine driven juggernauts
Splurge huge wads of notes to catalyze mass hysteria
Among street corner astronauts
Whose flight to Cupid exoplanet
Fell on its face
As moral worth net
They chose to suppress
In the face of perennial penury
That nibbles homesteads bereft of meals
In January
When cash overloaded sovereigns strike asymmetric deals
In which they beat down the cashless
Unless the poor rebuff cash offers
Preferring the famine and thirst the voiceless
Endure twenty four seven cos their coffers
Cash they’ve never seen
Cos fate shifted the balance of resources in favour of the few
Who more often than not turn out mean
To taunt the poor who shift on a church pew
As a tycoon blurts, ‘There’s a price tag on you
The sooner you acknowledge the reality
The better your world will enliven anew
As on you my bucks bestow and restore dignity in humility.’
Methinks Mine Earlier Rhyme Came Across Desperate...
For Hard Cold Cash
This small medium at large
kibitzer did appear
more brash (albeit) poetically,
and insinuate with soft pedal blare
perhaps at the expense of dare
ring to losing followers, this crash
test dummies star performer
did not mean to ensnare,
perhaps hypnotically tugged
heartstrings with his flair
analogous to birds eye glare
ruffling tail feathers of
a frosty buoy hoar gull (hare
reed) loon seething with hormonal
secretion and the brink to engineer
foolproof mating elaborate fanfare,
when bytes of my obviously clear
expression to succor minted heir
to a fortune (courtesy
anonymous philanthropist), now leer
re: asper point blank plea
for wads of moolah, but mere
lee issuing agitation where
substantial outlay to repair
(passenger side rear)
brake assembly, the automotive
technician espied situation where,
abrasion and erosion clear
as day, which critical assessment
warranted me to declare
an immediate affirmative
decision, which near
broke ma stainless steel piggy bank
to tune of six hundred bucks - hair
reed, an understatement, almost near
lee six months to the day, a prior reap
pair cost similar dollar figure,
which even at present
found yours truly still in despair,
then only to experience,
sans "FAKE" foreseer
(as ordained by Oracle
of Delphi) despite prayer
for me to vouchsafe share
ring at least one daily
compliment to the missus - neh veer
being privy (during our
twenty second plus year)
of whetted bull
lust stick missile exchanges, there
came shortfall of forced favorable blare
ring of said utterenced, thus superstition
an ugly head didst rear.
The other day I was rootin' around in my spouse's purse,
And was astounded by the contents that were so diverse.
If caught, I'd surely have hell to pay or maybe even worse,
And fer that very reason I shall never share with her this verse!
I was lookin' fer the spare car keys since mine I had displaced,
But was careful not to disturb her 'valuables' in my sneaky haste!
I discovered a broken pencil stub and a half-eaten Snickers bar,
A Wrigley's chewin' gum wrapper and the lid of a Mason pickle jar!
Diggin' further I found a dozen lipsticks in various sizes and hues,
And fer some reason her bag contained a couple of 3-inch screws!
Her wallet had a stash of cash that fer some reason she was hordin',
And curiously among other things was a photo of the King of Jordan!
I found an old 1980 date book which seemed to me of little use,
And wads and wads of used Kleenex which I found rather abstruse.
There was an assortment of finger nail files and emery boards,
Outdated grocery coupons and various threads, strings and cords.
I never did find the car keys after goin' through all the trouble.
They're probably lost without a trace 'midst all that useless rubble!
Thankfully, I didn't get caught or they'd be haulin' me off in a hearse,
Fer furtively rootin' around in my spouse's very personal purse!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Ladies dress up, looking their best
Pretty clothes chosen just to impress
Perfumed and pretty the ladies in high heels
Their menfolk look keen and prepare to do deals
It’s Ladies Day, at Ascot, an important event
For spending one’s money and not paying the rent
The crowd roars and cheers with tipsy excitement
Champagne overflows with the toffs and the titled
The royals parade for the eager crowd
Top hats lifted and politeness all round.
The fine horses parade sweating and anxious
Whilst trainers give jockeys tips for the action
Bookmakers sing out the odds for punters
Whilst tic tac men send secret codes to funders
Favourites are picked for substantial bets
Whilst outsiders are chosen by those with large debts
The stalls are opened and the horses surge out
Whips crack, and jockeys curse mounts
The favourite pushes through so beautifully
And the no hopers go backwards for all to see
The favourite is a winner just by a nod
the crowd cheers and eagerly collect their huge wads
For the beaten it is a day to try to forget
And the losing tickets flutter down with regret
The racegoers journey back home, fortunes spent
Whilst their ladies plan for next year’s event
Colorado is renown fer the majestic Rockies a-reachin' fer the sky.
Now, 'tis better known fer sittin' 'round, smokin' pot and gittin' high!
Visitors used to come to see Pikes Peak and The Garden Of The Gods.
Nowadays, they seek out cannabis shops wherein to spend their wads!
Some fellers gave up plantin' corn and melons to grow marijuana,
To reap the profits sellin' maryjane to folks a-seekin' their nirvana!
Now, in lieu of the scent of pine, the odious odor of pot pervades the air.
Glassy-eyed dudes stroll about pollutin' the air without a worldly care!
I'm chagrined to travel out-of-state sportin' a Colorado license plate.
Makes me real 'proud' to be called a denizen of The Centennial State!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
I wish I was rich,I wish I was rich!
If I was rich
I wouldn't *****
and I wouldn't moan.
I'd sit there with wads
of cash
all on my own.
If I was rich,if I was rich,
I wouldn't
spend a penny.
coz,if I did
I wouldn't stop
and then
I'd not have any.
Or Woman, Or Child, Or...
The following elucidated
conjecture actually can
(reed best) be taken with a grain
of salt, and no re ban
nah nah split 'ope ya 'ere me
cloud and lear, cuz (Oh my...
heavens to Betsy), ennui
got pulled by Evan -
Jewel Lean, who handed this long fellow
(wads worth to you)
speculation with fan
see prestidigitation legerdemain - tan
ta mount to cheap tricks
re: out of thin air
by this half
fast hue man,
Hill Billy Willy Wonka Nilly,
who blithely doth asseverate
apothegm (poem title) equally applicable
Century21 today Aswan
damn maxim initially
bespoke, when collective
primates begat enfant terrible
foo fighting predetermining anon
metastasizing debacle Yeti
bedeviling civilization
a bajillion years in the future with
Matthew Scott Harris deadpan
words worth less his way
before even an odd iota
of dire straight sultan
of swing didst merely span
spottily scattered amidst
pristine Earth, where
unchanging arboreal
beastie boys to oman,
and flock of sea gulls
continuity elapsed – Ivan
hunch, albeit un
recorded disc contented sow
sow hogtied pan
dum mo' nee ham, or
blessed historical events,
kept (stay'n) alive,
courtesy"FAKE" Trump
petting Dapper Dan,
where he knit pattern,
qua oral tradition, sans clan
destine scattered hot pockets
of sparse *****sapiens,
i.e. humanity LESS preponderant,
primary, and/or prolific,
where superstitions parlayed
(voodoo with no Fran Schwa),
and whirling dervishes fed elan,
which earliest recorded (doctored,
digitized, and demented
oh yea), not
tomb mitt to dimly mentioned
asper "time and tide
wait for no man"
purportedly by one
Saint Marher, circa:
1225 anno domini.
When mining thoughts, how deafening the ring
We search the walls of silence for a vein
A golden verse to strum on soft heart strings
To touch someone and stake a poet's claim
We chip away, in rubble, as we pick
It falls as wads of paper on the floor
When suddenly a glowing candlewick
We've struck the mother lode of metaphors
And as the liquid gold flows through the pen
In words of love and matters of the heart
The muse begins to tingle deep within
While he assays the worth of this new art
These nuggets that we find could be for sale
If bells are ringing, don't throw down the pail.
(LOL)
by Daniel Turner
Want Black Magic?
Who knew I could do hoodoo?
I been doing voodoo since I was a kid in my room, dude,
Club Metz played with dolls, bruh,
Excentrix loves this nostalgia,
CrashTheGame may have caused these problems,
I don't know who's to blame for the assault, ma!
I don't got to prove objectivity to you fart wads,
This project specifically maintains that you fart off,
Carted off, from the garden where dreams grow,
Monsanto got you to forgo your role
They got a piece of your soul,
Needs to be released, let go,
Before we can make peace on earth, ya know,
These seeds they sew,
Spread dirty pervy control,
Life in blight with no parole.
So amazed by the barrage from these lost kids,
Constantly flossin' their appalling catalogs of,
Garbly garbage of cultural nonsense,
Referencing mesmeric defilers of logic,
The internet is a representation of God, son,
Diverse direct democracy mixed with contagion,
Amazing Cajun flavor, enjoy the sensation,
Of desires manifesting without any patience
Mediocracy
Along the simple path we plod
Bureaucracy
With a maze of obstacles to trod
Autocracy
Also trying to dodge the hit squads
Theocracy
Steering clear, of banned lesser gods
Plutocracy
Ride on through, wielding big fat wads
Democracy
A minefield of all above, behind the facade
04/12/23
This mental scene came over me while finishing my abnormal psych final:
A pack of about 12 guys all wearing
Sweat pants and no undergarments
**** stars
No white dwarfs here...
They are headed into the strip club for a little fun.
I can visualize the suprise of the bouncers,
the patrons all have a look of protest,
but what are they really going to do?
The wads of cash in hand almost match their...
Oh, you get where I am going with this.
The next sequence for these guys is to chase some viagra
With a few tumblers of jagermeister.
Some of the strippers are going to have more fun
Than they've had since the Harlem Globetrotters were in town.
But poor Lil' Bunny;
It's her first night up there on the swirling stage,
And it's moving like an event horizon.
Her legs are stiff and they're not the only turgid things in this
Flesh arena.
The guys sense her freshness like Crocuta crocuta to the recent kill.
Earlier in the day,
The other dancers told ol' Lil' to really grind on the costumer's lap
In order to keep the money flowing-
"It clicks off the nerves in their brain and transfers all thought
South of the equator."
Yay!
Well, now she is has 12 overzealous guys waiting in queue
With big suprises for her,
And thin veils of cotton covering their junk.
...
I lightly chuckle in class, and then realize
I only have 20 minutes to finish this wonderful test.
Let me tell you the exact time you broke me
Left alone in a place so strange
Bullied me to the death of me
Turn upside down flush my dreams down the toilet
Kicked me in the nuts everyday
Throw spit wads at the heart of me
Turn this innocence into hurt
Question my self worth
Fell for a girl had no confidence in myself to tell her
These points these traumas in my life
Dictated my path
My scars are so deep freshly cut to this day
You took a child and turn him into a monster
You took what he felt and created these poems
I've never ever wrote about me
I've never told you all about me now
I am a wreck the child in me wants to be free
In those years of school you murdered a boys chance to succeed
You bullied me to the brink of true defeat
I cant and wont forget
Those names Jason, Dennis, Renee, Scott and more.
I will never venture forth to any type of reunion
I have never been able to forgive or forget
I was bullied i was crushed
This person here and now has never healed
I want so much to put you through what you did to me this child this boy who could have had so much potential
Now i try to recover and not fear everything
Not displace those i love
But i have no love for myself
You the Bully taught me that
I cant seem to unteach that
I can't seem to move on from 15.
32 years later this is the the true effect of being bullied