Long Beggarly Poems
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Today, I was musin', peerin' back thro' the mists of time,
Recallin' Sundays when I was young and times were more sublime.
For Sunday School and Church, Mom would roust us out of bed,
Then, fix the usual breakfast of ham, eggs and gravy bread.
The preacher would rant against the devil and fatal damnation,
And expound upon the Lord's forgiveness and eternal salvation!
When they sang, "Just As I Am", I became very weak in the shins,
And make my periodic trek to the altar to be forgiven of my sins!
Mom would fix her famous chicken, dumplin's and apple pie.
(Strange that hordes of beggarly kin folk would usually happen by!)
They would dig in with gusto, grabbin' the meaty chicken parts,
And us kids ended up with livers, gizzards and hearts!
After dinner (so-called on the farm) the men, boys and hounds,
Would leisurely stroll about the fields, woods and grounds.
The women folk would tidy up the kitchen and lounge around and chat,
About the boys in the war, coffee and sugar rationin' and this and that.
Along towards evenin' when all the farmin' chores was done,
We'd listen to the radio as Bergen and McCarthy poked their fun!
Then it was off to evenin' Church again around about seven.
(Since I got "saved" (again) I wanted to assure a place in heaven!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
THE REBEL ARTIST Why do you paint pictures of silent days?, Lonely roads, lonely streets; of beggars groping their way, holding hands to each other, making beggarly music to awake crushed passions. Is this your country? Once flowing with milk and honey! Now a beggar, begging from those he once fed! Independence Day? In those days, we trekked far from hinterlands to freedom square, expectations high against odds to receive golden salutes from heroes past...Those days of innocence, when civilization slapped us in the face...when euphoria of this treacherous sovereignty beclouded us not to see this end that comes... Why, Rebellious Artist, why do you paint pictures of baby-strapped women saddled with loads, why images of riotous youths, corpse-Iittered streets. Paint pictures of these green-white flowers, adorning our great country. Paint him, our man, the president. Oh! It was beauty last night glistening all over the Aerodrome as he beaded farewell to his countrymen, boarding the air to Saudi Arabia!
Our Shame,
"PRESIDENT" & "LEADERS"
Full grown men,
old,
devoid of vision,
Lacking in wisdom,
wicked weaklings
protected by paltry paid gun men
great grandfathers,
unwilling to train Younger Leaders.
Untrained themselves in morals & reputation,
Liars,
Tired & fickle in frame,
feeble. opaque, lacking imagination,
These exalted clowns,
drawn from rickety defeated military,
All but a weak one from the creek.
Gangsters,
Elevated as Presidents,
or Governors and Leaders,
We are Trapped,
fooled by cynosure of degenerate,
immoral men, destinies robbers,
watching the drowning of a once rich Giant.
confined felon,
demented through age
rogues as Presidents, Senators, Governors,
Protected by corrupt Police
and a demystified compromised Army,
Oppressive DSS, Abusive servants of the masses,
robbing the future of unborn kids,
denying all in the midst of Plenty,
shaming us all.
We have no Leaders Yet.
None since 1960.
Profligate band of men,
overtaken by fraud & moral turpitude,
A merry-go-round by failures,
sixty Plus years after Muzungu,
Illiterates still in charge of our destinies,
Despised in Ghana
scorned in Zambia
Overtaken by Ethiopians
locked out by Botswana
Denied by Rwanda
disgraced in Libya
Mocked in South Africa
Bared in sane countries
where corruption is an indelible blot,
incarcerating the guilty away from sane men.
These crooked Old recycled Failures,
Destroyed, ruined and damaged destroying still.
unwilling to retire in their dishonour,
Killing, abusing and incarcerating Young men who dares tyranny.
A former Giant,
Now a Crawling Giant of Africa,
Beggarly borrowing amidst plenty.
Over two hundred million divided mass,
waiting for “godot” .
procrastinating liberty for fear and docility
A country of Countries Ruined by Military men
masquerading as democrats through tyranny
A Cancer in Africa.
A Nation, wearied, sapped traumatized.
This vast exotic land, fringed by lush emerald jungles
A spark rising from the west, once looked upon by all,
A giant?
No, faded glory.
Vistas of burning star and torrential rivers
Once revered, now a derelict of crumbled epitaph
Africa, This burden weighs heavily on your brow,
These monsters slow the speed of your growth,
Stunted by greed,
raped by men,
is this a country?
where profligate band of men overtaken by fraud and moral turpitude,
Where gangsters and criminals reconvene every four years to loot.
Lords over conquered Lilliputians
Their mission obvious,
their strategies similar,
their inducement a bribe.
Lewd lords, banished the reputation of the ancestors,
Greedy goons imposed themselves as godfathers
The urchins in Lagos to the desert of almajiris of Kano
From cult cloned rivers to the borders around the Delta
Felons, fit for prison makes the rules,
And the people so docile watch a drama of an unending bondage
No resistance?
Where are their men?
To stay the impending doom of the unborn innocent citizens
There are no heroes yet, they never let them live,
A nation, where criminals becomes governors,
Bandits as senators
And a never-ending interest from dullards to rule a people.
And four-year’s tenure makes rascals twice richer as the masses beg for sustenance
Mobilized by kingpins, barons and bandits once decorated with honor
There are no heroes here, they never let them live,
monsters fit for jail order this path for their greed.
A people battered by long years of oppression
What a nation! Countries of Africa be not like this,
Mocking an incomplete incubation from colonial oppression
Sending their offspring to a second beggarly bow to slavery,
Oppressed by wicked mere mortals gathering dust as riches
Yet in the same country
Many races live there,
The Proud,
The fierce,
The warlike
And Yet unable to break free from subjugation from their new tyrants
Long prior - I took to the wheel
On a day, fairly, surreal
Amid one of my visits back home
I went to see, tailgating, all alone
My boyhood city. A city on its knees
I began patrolling, unemotionally
Among, the hollowed, disintegrated, arteries
I've gone into a run-down, stepping ground
Of relinquished houses, torched down
Cess-pool of spoiled industries, shook
Dismal, diminishing, to tears look
A catastrophe of block, smoke, and gook
Miles and miles of wrongdoing, invaded places
The most exceedingly awful, that humankind embraces
Free, with the blazing fury
Of youthful, spontaneity
I started to take pictures, ardently
Of drifters, hobos, winos, and the beggarly
Wearing, worn out, robe of strands
And vagrants with solidified hands
Crouched around, enormous, hot drum cans
Without modesty, I eagle-eyed
The crestfallen, with nowhere to hide
That permeates, everywhere, I spied
Offering itself for examination
A photo of urban immolation
I was alone in a no man's homey
And in a no man's city
Emi’lokan, the lyrics from a loon,
the vituperation born from the womb of greed,
the menace of recycled gangsters.
Emi’lokan, the beggarly shame of old vermin,
the intrusion of mafias and thuggish urchins,
Emi’lokan, The insanity accepted as norm,
Emi’lokan the dystopia of dementia, great grandfathers
suspending relevance of their poisoned docile Youths,
Emi’lokan, The cornucopia of fraud.
Emi’lokan the senseless Politics of bribery, of rice, tomatoes and grains.
the desperation of old thieves at the precipice of the grave.
Emi’lokan, where election is a lie,
Emi’lokan the lom of no reputation,
Emi’lokan though devoid of dignity,
Emi’lokan robbers without conscience,
Emi’lokan injustices without consequence,
Emi’lokan of diabetes and paralysis cloaked in deceptive "Babariga"
Emi’lokan where profligates bands hover over us.
Emi’lokan in the country of rogues.
she pips in fear for lateness like her peers,
hauteur cloaked with reticence,
her-boo-boo-vague, though walled around and palpable
official Narcissist disguised in rude affronts
Bravado of naughtiness in candor yet tacit
“Free me free me”, rants in melancholy
as ignorance upsets sorts of sort
Insensibility of differentiate as angels often tastes the gall
By routines of cataract long glare
Sends nostalgia down their spines
Though forgetting the milk and candies of supposed rivals
Doubling as friends in conning angst beggarly in their nature
Nagging and ganging a gang of gossipers
Finding Mutual grounds for their victims
Causing higgledy where there exist no war
For a suspected compromise of morals
Or a hunting taint of a past paints on Z walls
Where decorum is not a schoolmaster
As official time wastes in visits to motels at un-break break time
With holy bible at desk view to mask hypocrisy
First venerable “Etis” Migrants tasted buds of vinegary as noised by witnessing chauffeur
And guilt cautioned not her thigh with avalanche of showy attire of a seductress
advertorials of “buried innocence”jagged in curved carbuncle front and back
Banging shoes in unending visits secreted in kitchen
double faced, loud calls to clients for managerial gratitude
as empty office fill vacuums of fast quickie (sharp-shap) appointments arranged or rearranged
Ill mannered, bad tempered not marriageable, never listen, never patient making enemies
Commandeering, verbose, self-conceited, presumptuous, stout and arrogant
Form:
SLAPPY THE APPLE TREE OF OZ - WIZ
Dorothy and I go way back, don’t you know
and by the way I’m familiar with the bale of hay,
thundering tin can and the trembling kitty show.
At first they were hesitant to let me stay.
I had to pull my roots up from the ground,
put a cafeteria net in place to hold its yield,
then follow the yellow brick crowd ‘round and ‘round
and avoid a screaming witch out in the field.
She threatened to tear me limb from limb.
I stuck out my red tongue, told her to just try.
The knees of tin clattered together - poor him,
and dear Dorothy and her little dog let out a sigh.
I fell asleep standing in the poppy garden of snow.
My apples were nearly poisoned but I shielded them
before my eyes closed. Thankful for Glinda’s glow —
awakening even the brave one with his absent brain stem.
The growling yawn of the cowardly furball freaked me out.
I shook the diamondback crystals from my leaves and trunk.
Our Kansas girl led the way to Oz with a tree-mendous shout.
For the millionth time we grab arms and sing - this time in funk.
We reach the wonderfully luscious land of oz - green as my hair.
Begging audience of the wizard, he finally sees us.
I’m patient as he listens to the beggarly needs — a lion’s share.
I won’t bring myself down to their level - make a great fuss.
The wizard listens to this wizened curmudgeon tree.
I ask him for unending sweet apples without any worms.
And as he has done with the rusty-eyed gang, he makes a decree,
for he must give a long winded speech and make us squirm.
The only drawback is I must stand guard in this breezy courtyard —
a lookout for writings on the skywall that might jeopardize our lives.
Still, I am the crowned jewel, so humble, in this emerald vanguard.
We sang and danced our way down the yellow brick and survived.
10/29/2018
Off To See The Wizard Poetry Contest
Charles Messina - Sponsor
In the Wizard of Oz, Dorothy gets slapped by an apple tree. This is where I came up with his name :)
she pips in fear for lateness like her peers,
hauteur cloaked with reticence,
her-boo-boo-vague, though walled around and palpable
official Narcissist disguised in rude affronts
Bravado of naughtiness in candour yet tacit
“Free me to free me”, rants in melancholy
as ignorance upsets sorts of sort
Insensibility of differentiating as angels often tastes the gall
By routines of cataract long glare
Sends nostalgia down their spines
Though forgetting the milk and candies of supposed rivals
Doubling as friends in conning angst beggarly in their nature
Nagging and ganging a gang of gossipers
Finding Mutual grounds for their victims
Causing higgledypiggledy where there exist no war
For a suspected compromise of morals
Or a hunting taint of a past paints on Z walls
Where decorum is not a schoolmaster
As official time wastes in visits to motels at un-break break time
With holy bible at desk view to mask hypocrisy
First venerable “Etis” Migrants tasted buds of vinegary as noised by witnessing chauffeur
And guilt cautioned not her thigh with an avalanche of showy attire of a seductress
advertorials of “buried innocence” jagged in curved carbuncle front and back
Banging shoes in unending visits secreted in kitchen
double-faced, loud calls to clients for managerial gratitude
as empty office fill vacuums of fast quickie (sharp-sharp) appointments arranged or rearranged
Ill-mannered, bad-tempered not marriageable, never listen, never patient making enemies
Commandeering, verbose, self-conceited, presumptuous, stout and arrogant
Too deep to call a parody
Flice compels like someone smells
Not a funny sight to see
One declines in boxes dwells
A plaque of cardboard sells her plight
Despite the last intentions standing
Out from hiding in the night
Such urgency “please feed me”
So why one thousand passing by
Won’t manage find a single dime?
So fitful forced examined souls
All frozen fear the fast approach
What trepidation all exhume
Just look away we will not play
Relief the traffic will resume
Zoom you soon along your day
No humor from the one you see
Along the road beguiled
The inner part of you and me
Stands starving like an unkempt child
The beggarly so far from sight
Like darkness all our inner plight
Relinquish all this world to night
Take up your placard at first light