Of warriors many – - - daughters – sons!
Was it not ‘yours’ – a song was sung?
Did you cherish them – spit - or shun?
Did you help - support - or leave them hung?
Too soon forgotten - simply ‘gone’ -
so many fallen - leaving One:
Stalin, Churchill, - - Napoleon,
Hussein, Grant, Harry Truman.
Bush, Hitler, Washington,
Lincoln, Roosevelt, and Genghis Khan.
Please! In your mind continue on!
Forgotten billions dead – but remembering One
Of which controlled the arrows and guns.
Scratching – Wondering – What was won . . .?
I was Born (I think) - - - ‘Confusions’ Son!
The struggle for America’s soul
now almost 250 years old
Shoulder-to-shoulder at her border
freedom contends with law’n’order
From ‘Give me liberty or give me death’
to defenders of slavery’s last breath
From ‘In order to form a perfect union’
to ‘The buck stops here’ of Harry Truman
From Chicago’s Haymarket Massacre in 1886
to the violence of this century’s politics
Tempers flare, the gloves come off, and ~ no surprise
~ Our unsure Republic’s been Monarchized
Abramowicz, Goldstein, and Sol Newman
Went a-caroling with Harry Truman
They warbled ‘Silent Night’
In the wrong key, alright ~
Sol said, “Forget that darn gentile crewman”
What ere were warm, inviting open doors,
To this man maudlin and defeated kind,
Unsure, frightened, his dog-tail tucked behind,
He now finds shut, keys lost at far off shores.
Asked of voyage, on adverse winds he whines,
Given a choice from a pair of evils,
He chooses both— he who to doubt inclines,
One sure can’t go wrong with his choice of ills.
Here’s him— lion’s gait with vigour and vim,
He minds no doors getting shut on his face
And looks a sure shot like a tennis ace,
Belief in him bouncing like rising cream,
All odds-against ciphered, game on a deuce,
And a shot that turns all don’ts unto dos!
_____________________________________________
Poet’s note: “To a pessimist, his opportunities look like difficulties.
To an optimist, the difficulties are like opportunities.”
I think it was Harry Truman who said this.
This Sonnet takes off from what he said.
Sonnets | 10.09.2012, revised April 2022 |
President Harry Truman
Had a beloved wife named Bess.
She wouldn't move with him to the White House
And with his Bess, he didn't mess.
3/26/19
Tania Kitchen Sponsor
President Harry Truman,
Told his Bess she wasn't human,
When she, his beloved spouse,
Wouldn't move with him into White House.
Harry House or
We Wish Wives
Harry house it just ain't no more
Someone else is now at their door
Each day when it did start to open
With him not here started coping.
Those that live there are nice to
They will never be another you
And dear wife who we do like so
Watched your love grow and grow.
Someday we may be together again
Not quite sure and don't know when
Our friendship will still last and last
Harry house is all part of the past.
Was last thing I had on my mind
Great friends have been hard to find
Next door neighbor is now my friend
Who me off one day will soon send.
Isn't that what whole world is all about?
May be much love left with a little doubt
Although lengths of our lives are waning
We wish wives would quit complaining.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Harry Truman had a Southern White House
built for him in Key West, Florida. It was
called the Harry House. Another Harry had
a house here not meeting his specifications.
He never moved in.
Though I ain't of his political creed
Good ol' Harry Truman we really need
He didn't apologize
He said "To 'ell with you guys!"
We need a guy in the White House who'll lead
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Husband Harry was well known for using earthy language now and then.
He used a not so nice word other than "crap" over and over again!
Bess heard that term so often that it became hard for her to endure.
Said she, "I'm trying to get him to clean up his act and use the term "manure!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
When Harry read his copy of The Washington Post he began to fume!
A lousy review of daughter Margaret's vocal talent was written by a Mr. Hume.
In a torrid letter Harry told Hume where he could go,
Adding he'd need a lot of steak for black eyes and perhaps a supporter for below!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Harry Truman was renown for giving 'em hell
And in such matters he did excel
But he got himself in a terrible mess
When he tried such tactics on dear old Bess
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Entry for Catie Lindsey's "You who....Yo, Clerihew" Contest
You must not have believed
in the death of poets.
A harpsichord wind
plays the bare, coral trees
in an ashen sky.
Songs sing like passive seas
honed red with remembering.
You are ancient Aztec,
edged flint--
yet you burn in us
as we slide down your back,
wooden curls rising,
jigging on knuckles.
All things must fit, Harry.
Bridges wane, catching your slide
to darkness, your rediscovery--
face burned umbra,
ambered fingers like ancient ivory
in water - that morel in spring
green as your memory
still walking these streets,
still clicking these sidewalks
like a wind chime
in soft evening turned sun-wise
with our remembrance,
our hope, the brief glint of those glasses
like a trout churning
water's silver mirror, softly touching
your long reflection
cast in eternity - something loved
we have lost,
regained.
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