Long Blithely Poems
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He blithely wanders along
Down a near empty street
Off to see his mates for their
Monthly catch up and meet.
He’s happily unaware that
As he saunters slowly by
His every move is noted
By that Big Eye in the sky.
He stops to take some money
From the street cash machine
His every transaction recorded
His every visit filmed and seen
The internet logs his browsing
He may think it’s a mystery
But it’s still there even though
He deletes his browsing history.
His location precisely placed
From use of his mobile phone
In these modern times a person
Is very seldom really on his own.
Not quite as Orwell pictured it
But so very very near
Whether we like it or not
1984 is really here.
Big Brother Is Watching
They say in a good cause
Helping to maintain stability
Ensuring we keep the laws.
It supposedly keeps us safe
Every single place we go
But in reality it’s just to
Maintain the Status Quo.
Nothing boot toe till rot and duff feet...
Attempting nightly ritual
nsync with sole and
instep of beat
January second 21:08
two thousand twenty
footwear equipped with
custom made cleat
proudly standing tall
(think) as an elite
able, eager, and ready
to sprint skyhigh fleet
ting into netherlands
(towering well over
other wiry antennae thin contestants,
hence exception to
maximum height waved
outrageous illegitimate forfeit
chore blithely Atlas shrugged off),
whereby said marathoner Olympian
amidst godly pantheon did greet,
competitors crouched tigerlike
ironically melting starter blocks
deftly gunning generating barreling heat
fast as greased lightning
Achilles catapulted courtesy blur,
zee mist tree (oak kay)
man, i.e. helpmeet,
he roundly squared off
accompanied by his wifely entreat.
Thus situated, positioned, and finagled
husbandry duty obliging the misses,
no matter she kick started
(think thrashing outsize overgrown toddler)
childish task deemed
markedly cockameemie design,
subsequently these little feet (mine)
stood stolid upon bedroom floor
she did man date me,
I supplicated, necessitated,
implored, and decried divine
intercession, cuz thee mademoiselle
did authoritatively assign,
thee mister getting mine
handy dandy grip upon her supine
corpulent physique
outstretched leaden legs
awaiting (Abby) salute perfect sign
to commence powerfully
prying and pulling
first straight then nine
tee degrees practically prostrating self
footloose and eventually
detaching fancy free
thunder thighs, what strong
amazing anatomical design
nearly defying might
of super Matt nein
bird brainer heron,
an ill eagle cro-magnon scheme
to untie clodhoppers
snug as a bug in a rug,
whence laces got knotted
freaking me out clearly
out this world,
wide webbed formerly
Gordian tangled skein.
An email written to eldest daughter
December 28th, 2019,
which unwittingly, magically, accidentally...
resurfaced while scrolling
thru outdated emails
and OpenOffice documents of mine
thee evening of February 20th, 2022.
The remaining lines
comprising reasonable poetic rhyme
sent to said offspring
more than two plus years ago
and dada feels grief no more, cuz time
heals all wounds.
Papa unexpectedly overtaken with woe
flashback shook me complex edifice
head, shoulder, knees in to toe
quietly processing silent film status quo
shant upended jollity
between when a little girl no
matter mine nonconformist
mien unconditionally accepted,
ye dear daughter(s) don't know
sudden onset of anguish ho... ho... ho
holiday cavorting accentuated as
charade, facade, masquerade fueling ego
particularly Santa with the Misses,
and her sharp faux claws
keeping warm while
temperature five below.
No matter most every detail
I accurately gauge to attest
your life bustling
chock full o' zest
withheld, no doubt emotions
smolder within your chest
and kudos to thee lovely offspring
(both) packed bags
and headed out west
twas honorable duty, though now...
papa feels like
an unwanted guest
thee survived, albeit psyche bruised,
undergoing the electric
kool aid acid test
laughter when playing
Mancala, Uno, Sorry, et cetera,
how dada predictably did jest
when table turned,
I (spoiler Craigslist curb alert)
willingly, lovingly, and blithely
lost desire to win quest
to dispose cards, game
pieces, and/or glass beads
invariably other occasions
ye long since left (as thee must)
me and mother with an empty nest.
Nothing more doth
Matthew Scott ask or desire
then to delight and bask
as well educated hire
swimmingly how thee
learned to acquire
confidence and multitasking,
while I trod thru much
psychological muck mire
oft times (like now)
experiencing financial straits dire,
linkedin to when only youngster fire
within me belly to joie de vivre
peter out and prematurely expire
and yours truly reckons nothing
can change the past aghast being
deprived a marshmallow
at long ago time sharing campfire
with shortcomings scalding,
killing, crimping relationship,
courtesy lack of income
rendered paternal bond disastrously dire
doth now conclude another poetic wire.
In the sea of swirling dust that is our infinity
Held together by the breath of Divinity
Infinitesimal microdots are we
Yet megalomania rules our see.
Do ants blindly view themselves as lords of their world
In their intricately marshalled social whirl?
Does the Higgs Boson,if it exists,
Boast worlds invisible to our questing wits?
Majestic laws govern our creation
With life's jigsaw of interconnection
Which mere accident cannot explain
In the welter of our cosmic pain.
Marooned on a piece of grit
We fondly believe that this is it.
We can solve the mystery of our fate
As Dawkins and Hawking blithely state
Improve our instruments to deeper fathom
Into the once indivisible atom
Enhance our telescopes to peer further into space
Life's mystery aye remains to bewilder our gaze.
It is in our DNA always to explore
But no matter how deep nor how far
Our scientific knowledge we advance
Life's mystery aye leads us a merry dance
Yet we must to our nature be true
In trying to find a clear way through
So that we stand proud,tall and justified
But we still remain small and mystified.
Relative is time,the conjuror,
With its tricks of smoke and mirror
In a world that seems so solid
While shimmer its particles pellucid.
Our senses feel that they truly see
But we cannot know reality.
The young are prone to blithely say, “Time’s on my side,”
but youth’s no promise one will long on Earth abide.
“He died too soon,” we say beside a young one’s grave
and ponder why God opted not his life to save.
Those who have not achieved all they desire in life
sometimes blame others~~even God~~for pain and strife.
Let’s flip the coin. Are we convinced that we deserve
all blessings we receive? Do we have that much nerve?
God’s ways are not our ways; we cannot think like Him,*
but we must trust he doesn’t merely act on whim.
(*Isaiah 55:8)
His Word assures He loves us; this, we must believe
and have deep faith He’ll comfort us each time we grieve.
When we depart this shell of clay, we’ll clearly see
what we now view as through a glass dark as can be.”
(I Corin. 13:2, the Apostle Paul)
I 'spose there are many religious tenets open to interpretation.
Old John Calvin proposed another upon receiving inspiration,
When he propounded the ticklish matter of predestination,
Thereby, causing more angst concerning one's eternal salvation!
Most folks blithely saunter along live's treacherous path,
Trying their best to behave and avoid their Maker's wrath,
At times straying from the route the Creator has planned,
Assuming by good works they'll reach the Promised Land!
I reckon folks will seldom concur on spiritual potpourri,
And 'specially on predestination, theologians will disagree.
We can only plod the straight and narrow e'er doing His will.
Be it predestination or faith, only He our fate will fulfill!
We among the quick will never know how He judges our fate,
'Til we pass thro' that mysterious veil and enter Peter's gate!
Is it predestination that determines who draws the short straw,
Or does He use other methods for administering Divine Law?
'Tis a profound homily that John Calvin did compose.
As for my stone this epitaph I would humbly propose:
"If predestination it be, eons ago I pray Thou has destined me,
To enter Thy heavenly abode to be at eternal rest with Thee!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
This morning we are engulfed by a flirtatious fog
that seduces the skin of our hopes,
it's warm smother touches softly then suddenly skirts away
parting for the penetration of our will
whirling blithely as we taste the course that carries us into the bay of it's foaming bliss,
a salty smoke that seems to be spilling inland
from the burning edges of the world itself,
the ocean is in a fury only a few miles outside the bay
ramming it's very soul into the cliffs of paradise
chanting in a single violent growl
we can feel it's percussion in our chests,
it is November 6th
and on this day, as a family of survivors
and as a gang of explorers
we stride with pride to the summit's edge,
standing still and firm, stout against the winds of disbelief
and quiet in reverence for the might and miracle that this moment represents,
we take hold of eachother's hands, facing the ocean's ancient emotions
and I offer a prayer of gratitude and desire for continued guidance aloud,
as I finish we raise our hands and shout
We are God's eagles...We are the Almighty's eagles!...
J.A.B.
Violet verse channel,
or swarovski conduit,
phrase on finger tips,
itchy inclination,
poetry a purl knit,
garment of expression,
for enigmatic inklings,
lambent latex lyrical,
garnet clad dwelling,
for weighty topic,
of metric tonne metier,
life questions welling up,
within sentient me,
once occluded,
I’d adumbrate in brief,
daily conversations,
then blithely omit,
in dizzying eddy,
whirlpool roundabout,
of clogged schedule,
one can self delude,
haul out trite fibs,
glib excuses,
such as swamped,
with chores unwieldy,
then a frail whisper,
exhorted earnestly,
“Write From The Heart,”
and other pristine prompts,
your skills now await,
without inane bragging,
stories, essays, tracts,
which in the past,
were wardrobe assets,
worn in taut scrutiny,
in arrant academia,
employed by me,
in chosen field of science,
where conceptual clarity,
in tests, exams, orals ,
ranked and reigned,
supreme,
gracious gumption plucker,
me embarked on,
poetic escapade extraordinaire,
poetry my fresh lease,
of life
(alternately titled:
why yours truly crafted six electronic aliases).
No rhyme nor reason beatle browed
beastie boy long ago
created INXS of half dozen
email addresses gallivanting
feigning himself a most sought after
singular modest beau
courtesy crass brazen duplicity
eventually forced to eat crow
campy bonehead devoured carrion
(blech) property extinct dodo.
Egregious discreet escapades
sneeze silly explains at chew
(albeit lamely) philandering,
foolish extramarital dalliances,
I now regret and genuinely eschew
interesting complete one hundred eighty
sobering perspective regarding grandview
emotional shell shocked fallout experienced
courtesy this wanderlust myopic
quite reformed practicing Jew
whose doubting thomas belief, credo, dogma...
closely aligned with Unitarianism milieu
dirty deeds done dirt cheap willingly crafted
previous poems offering adulterated preview
years after, the missus
got told deux gals I did hammer, nail and screw
at present juncture within space time continuum,
yours truly maintains critical view
bespeaking polygamous antics,
now reviled when garden variety
generic primate initially acted cagey
while going bananas within human zoo.
I sought amorous affections
(think verboten fruit) cuz marriage went askew
(daily altercations transpired
between me and the missus),
thus as iterated above
unhappy husband stealthily finagled bravado
(dreamt up one after another digital pseudonyms
blithely cavorting debauchery ejaculating
unsuspecting self incrimination) cyber sex debut
successfully launched prurient hitherto
novel short lived role as Casanova
starring me... Matthew
Scott Harris whose hubris
coursed thru mine every sinew
until... worst fate than being caught
by cannibalistic Zulu.
Over the town in clear ebony
Shines down the glow of ancient stars
Their light twinkling out a melody
Of moonlight dreams in all that is ours
The people go about life blithely
Never seeing the amazing repertoires
Of glorious night lights striking freely
Against the city’s better memoirs
Everyone who walks past them
Should note the way they glitter and glimmer
Beautiful sparkles that speak like a poem
Starry nights the color of azure
After seeing the scenic night sky
I feel reassured of God’s vivid cheers
And after whispering a silent sigh
I will leave you my tears
Inspired by my favorite Van Gogh painting – Starry Nights