Long Barrister Poems
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I was reminiscing the other day about people I've known o'er the years,
And found it strange that their names corresponded with their careers.
For instance, Joseph Carpenter was handy with hammer, nails and saw.
Clyde Barrister, famed ambulance chaser, successfully practiced law!
Art Paynter, dabbled in pornographic oils and is now confined in prison.
My dentist, Whitey Capps, takes care of my choppers as if they were his'n.
A neighbor, Semmi Riggs, is a long-haul trucker and is on the road a lot.
He married a classmate of mine, Tipsy Toper, renowned as the village sot!
An old army buddy, Hank Roper, is a cowpoke and rides the rodeo scene.
An old girl friend of mine, Freda Flick, is now starring on the silver screen.
The town ne'er-do-well, Don Heller, got religion and became a preacher.
His brother Bob (known as stuttering Bob) became an English teacher!
Willie Wrench turned out to be one of the finest Buick mechanics around,
And his wife Lila (nee Leak) is a plumber and none better is to be found.
Cyrus Cloud is working for the National Weather Service as a meteorologist,
And I hear that Buddy Butts has a thriving practice as a famed proctologist!
Frenchie Horne has his own band and I see him on the boob tube now and again.
An old pal, Gilbert Graves, is the village undertaker located at Fifth and Main.
Was it intentional or fickle fate that wedded these names to their vocation?
I reckon in a sense 'twas both due to a struggling bard's wild imagination!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
What the Butler Heard
Extract from a memoir
Lord Illustrious Penge of Lampwicker Hall,
Welcomed local Toffs, to his Name-Dropper ball.
Noses upturned with a touch of conceit,
Hob-Knobbing with gentry and gentleman elite.
Colonel recalled, his luncheon with Churchill,
Discussing backbenchers and a new Commons bill.
Shooting down Stukas, Captains claim to fame
“We had no choice Sir, Hitler started the game”
Lady Bell and I, champion ballroom dance,
After meeting Fred Astaire, purely by chance.
I worked with Crosby, taught him to Croon,
Just as well really, he couldn’t sing in tune.
Rupert went to school with Dame Vera Lynn,
and starred in a war film with Anthony Quinn.
Mortenson served, in old Atlee’s Cabinet,
Roberta was a Barrister when they first met.
Bradman hit this Six, into the members stand,
Luckily, I caught it, stretching out one hand.
I got a hole in one, on the sixth at Upper Plumb,
Sir Monty looked aghast, utterly struck dumb.
Sent my son to Eton, toughen him up a tad,
Hopefully play at Flanker, just like my old Dad.
Got myself a Cadi’, drives like a dream,
Shiny sleek and black, trim of vintage cream.
Gielgud and Guinness, met me at the Royal,
A script for their new play, Rich Man & Toil.
Later with QE2, after receiving my MBE,
She asked my opinion, of the shows on BBC.
I stayed at base camp, nursing a busted leg,
Hilary splinted it up, with rope and spare tent peg.
Spent some time in Burma, till the Japs came in,
Came home to Blighty, temper wearing thin.
I was at the Oval when Hutton hit 364,
England posted 903, a record breaking score.
In service with his lordship, so many stories,
Serving champagne to upper class Tories.
Tales might be true, just a little overstated,
Like the one that got away, typically inflated.
They were rather pompous, but often kind,
Especially the ones, left with half a mind.
Get me a stiff one Walters, Champers is gassy,
Just Lords way, sounding snob and brassy.
Then I won the football pools,
Bought my wife a gem,
So now I am a gentleman,
Just like the rest of them.
I should think I do not need to dream anymore
For all my boyish dreaming has borne nothing,
I cannot carry out my motivating visions, so
I should quit having those fruitless hallucinations.
Once I dreamed that I would be a barrister
Someday after my troubled academic progress,
But I’m aging and still fighting flaws of character
That prevent my being anyone of note in this life.
Maybe I should live each godsend day as it comes
And peacefully forsake the folly of dreams that pay little,
To live like one without any definite dreams or terms
Till perhaps I get chocked by some delicious stuff someday.
I strictly will not dream of being anything in future
For I simply want to do cheap things that make me happy,
I forever want to be young and I just do not want to mature,
So that I can savor the thrills that entertain a juvenile heart.
Let the luckier breed continue to dream of a big brighter future,
I’ll only write sad poems and savor every passing moment’s pleasure.
" I Smote Thy Heart"
by~ Richard Pickett
Upon the morrow, I shall take aim
with this slender feathered shaft at the heart of thee,
it shall pierce thee in the coldest of manners. Thou shalt
know from whence it came. From my sorrow, said sorrow
left upon me by the daggers of thy withered soul.
Beguiled by thy mask of innocence,that thee wore
as brilliantly as the Barrister, pleading before the magistrate.
Thou shalt plead mercy of passion, I once possessed only for thee,
that I remove the bolt from thy heart. Yet... I shall smite thee,till
thy blood runs as cold as the stone upon whence thy lie.
by~ Poet Destroyer
Strike on whom my ears deceive,
your sadness pierce ye 3 times therefore.
Straight liketh dagger of dragon teeth under thy heart.
A grace alone thou sprouted in remoteness ways.
If it ware not thy heart, ye fancy, into thy face
I have besidis all thy pain
No thing to want if it ware not Mad
Hold on to all things even as ye see, in every angle.
Nothing doth matter; thy aim shall endeth all sorrow
I have founded but makis me happiest thou ever was,
Thou shall not beggeth, taketh the dagger
Now thou its to late, smote thee very slowly
Thee hath my heart in deep shallow waters ;
Bloody lips do what ye list and dredge thee not
Smote thy heart, I care not,
Love whom ye forget, my sweet innocence.
Wherefore I pray mercy or shall not.
But love whom ye fear no God,
Do what must,
My tears shed thousands of grains of sand.
Morrow, will soon cometh, shall I hold
as you taketh away, from your
~ Femme' Fatal ~
A collaboration with * Richard Pickett
A barrister tottering through alleys of London,
Alcohol-shamed when espied;
Slinking home at four in the morning,
To a pillow of tears never dried.
Sidney Carton's the wretch whom others denounce,
He groans at his puffy, ruined face in the mirror;
Daring not to yearn for dreams long abandoned,
Departed down whiskey-dulled rivers.
Still from eye's corner notes he the resemblance
To erstwhile hero, Charles Darnay:
That dashing Frenchman who's captured the heart
Of the woman for whom Carton secretly prays.
So, milking that resemblance for all it is worth,
Carton offers up his life, brutish and mean,
Inserting his own head, instead of Darnay's,
'Neath the knife of 'Madame Guillotine.'
When sure of morality down here on Earth,
We suddenly uncover confusion,
Villains prove heroes and heroes mere villains:
Is Certainty but an Illusion?
The day passes, an idle hitchhiker,
Thumb half-heartedly protruding
A posture half begging, half daring
Go ahead… seize the day
Good luck with that challenge
For daylight slips through the fingers
Craftily dodges with shadowy stealth
All attempts to control it, confine it
A few minutes in a crowded Starbucks
A cold compress of iced coffee
A mindless “atta boy, go get ‘em”
From a high school drop-out Barrister
Another “rope-a-dope” meeting
Stay on your feet, they’ll stop talking soon
How did it come to this
You were once a contender
Another ten round draw
Everyone seems happy
You didn’t embarrass anyone
Rematch tomorrow...8AM
She smiled the smile of a bankrupt barrister
No one suspected her files were out of order
Walking across the floor on staccato heels
They stared as she strutted through the corridor
They had fallen prey to her honeyed tones
Her breath had declared their innocence
They gladly paid her fee in advance
Deceived by confident indifference
Unimpeded by the facts of the case
She only practiced the art of beauty
Her greatest successes gifted by men
Who were bewitched while on jury duty
Sometimes though, there would be a lady Judge
Demanding to hear the facts of the case
The accused was no longer mesmerized
They had a look of concern on their face
The scales of justice weighted against them
Sad for them, no get out of jail free card
She's off to the next unsuspecting fool
They're unaware that she should be disbarred
You steal my chips
and sip from my best
teacup's brim. You pinch
my thunder just to hear the
applause begin. My learned
friend, your record's known, or so
they say. The evidence grows stronger
every passing day. You throw punchlines
long before I've reached the twist. You
drink my stories before they've had time
to persist. You leap through pauses like a barrister
sniffing flaws. Then smile politely, resting smugly
on applause. The clerk cries, "Order!" Robes
begin their stately sway. The judge sighs, "We hear this selfsame
case every day." The jury nods without the slightest
hesitation. "He always gives the verdict before the
conversation." The verdict comes: "Guilty — beyond all
reasonable doubt!" The charge: "Stealing endings -
Butting in, throughout! The charge: Sentence theft
by constant interruption! The culprit pleads:
"Your Honour, mercy! I've mouths to feed!"
The judge interrupts, "There! You've done
it yet again, indeed." "Kindly let the
speaker finish... before you finish
the sentence." "For the crime of
finishing sentences....... Your
Sentence shall never be finished."
"Off with his Head!."
"Off with his Head!."
.
Memoriam of the Great Sardar Vallabh Bhai Patel
Who was the first Vice Prime Minister and Home Minister
United each petty kingdom and state and made them dwell
In a single unit, and thus he did administer...
Ironman, he was called, due to his determination.
Kings and kingdoms, like thatched huts of coconut leaves, he shook.
For a united nation, he had no hesitation.
For this, each and every possible means he undertook
We heard, as a barrister, when he was hearing a case
He happened to get a telegram and just kept quiet.
Death of his wife! Yet, as a man in war, he took his place.
Fraternally, he and Neheru tackled each riot.
We had such politicians those days, I'm sorry to say.
We lack such. Is this why we have to go the statue way...?