Long Brigades Poems
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A parade requires a horde of supporting cast to put on a show:
Platoons of committees plus cops to control the traffic flow.
But an indispensable element of any successful parade,
Is the ever-viligant crew of the poop and scoop brigade!
A parade ain't complete without John Deere and Farmall tractors,
And a legion of politicians and other such obnoxious detractors.
There's the usual haughty equestrians riding prancing steeds,
Followed by the scoop brigade disposing of equine misdeeds!
Members of the marching bands must be careful where they tread,
Being very alert for unforeseen obstacles that may lie ahead.
But with a crack poop and scoop brigade that is really on the ball,
They can march with resolute stride stepping in nothing at all!
A parade must have silly clowns and a queen of something or other,
Colorful floats, fire engines and classic cars trailing one another.
Some even feature giraffes and elephants plodding down the street,
Posing a special challenge to the brigade but they won't concede defeat!
You've got to tip your fedora to those stalwart scoop brigades.
Without their attention to detail and participation in parades,
And dealing with emergencies without the slightest cue,
Many awkward and stinky situations could very well ensue!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
...He and a girl had gotten drunk,
and sure enough did slip outside,
both of them had been caught f-cking
in the stairs on a dorm’s north side.
The outrage brigades went crazy,
the snowflakes all just lost their sh-t,
claimed this woman couldn’t consent,
it was ‘rape,’ and he had done it!
That he himself was quite drunk too
didn’t matter that much you see,
that this woman raised no outcry
did not mean they should show mercy.
They ginned up their two-minute hate,
called him ‘sexist,’ ‘rapist’ and ‘scum,
demanded that he be fired
before he could 'hurt anyone.'
Harassed the fire department
with protests that dragged on for weeks,
spammed the city’s internet sites,
even interrupted a mayor’s speech.
And the media latched on it,
lied boldly, like they always do,
got a survivor to declared
she would not have gone if she knew.
Ed, obviously, was surprised,
but knew his team would stand by him,
yet when the politicians called
saw things were looking rather grim.
And when the mayor explained to him
that the city must protect itself,
he resigned to keep his pension,
cursing public servants to hell.
And now he can no longer save
good people when they might be hurt,
but the SJWs don’t care,
they cheered taking down ‘a monster.’
Though (supposedly) only
the good die young, urn holding
cremated ashes a mere cup
full, every last man standing falls,
cuz nobody else
escapes un pup
yule lore blitzkrieg,
or aging gracefully,
the unavoidable eventual fate,
(mortal fateful demise),
sans the remaining unsung
anonymous peoples meet up
with the grim reaper,
who will ineluctably disrupt
the carryings on
with each and every individual
(non plus ultra all other
life forms as well)
gradually or with abrupt,
and unannounced debut
scythe lent lee appearing
to whisk away the
honest and/or corrupt
whether taking their
first meal of the day,
and/or last sup
per, perhaps sitting quietly,
when body electric
amp pare rent lee
receives ohm
my word fatal invite,
whereat permanent shocking
quiescence doth, sans
stealth maneuver erupt
tragically, indiscriminately,
and blithely
mowing down innocent civilians,
and/or training fate squarely
upon heads of soldiers
life during wartime,
where opposing armies regale
while marching men go hup...
to three fore (akin
to a story field day),
winning booby prize, viz
counting on qua,
asper winning lottery
and/or Stanley Cup
major blood bath rendered
significant counting coup
whereat each opposing fighting
force figuratively doth slew
the other, analogously dost defeat
making mince meat
re: as uniformed brigades in heat
of wanton killing
fields sliced minced,
chopped nada so vary neat,
via stealth unable dupe, nor cheat
death be not proud,
et cetera, nonetheless,
grimly forced to greet
a bonanza coup won,
only tubby beat
tin to pulp by adept
skull and excellent fleet
of foot (top
notch crafted) sweet
(albeit) temporary victory
tasting said treat
assailing, bruiting , and/or
weathering stance versus
alternating between defensive
and/or offensive
use of cross bones,
in a hail of bullets
instantaneously didst greet
fast and furious i.e. suffering
deadly raking har row
ring slaughter, an entire
phalanx gone, where
(metaphorical terrible swift sword)
no uniformed fighter
can never call retreat.
the personification hurts the reasoning of an untrained apophenic
cacography ensues as the computer throws a spell check wobbly
the poet scribes on because everything is not what it seems to be
clouds become animals spirits aspirations and nebulous signs
and I am the object and subject of mind altering misperceptions
sometimes ‘a cigar’ is just a cigar and ‘this is not a pipe’ dream
subconscious delusion offer a palatable way out of shackles
an unmade bed becomes an expensive desirable piece of crap art
the urinal in the museum flushes waste and reality down the drain
and yet one has to craft understanding and narrate viable stories
paraedolia is such an enchanting word as are paradox connections
apophenia rules when the truth is too painful to face in real time
the scribe employs license and unlicensed paradigms for his work
Exupery’s elephant swallowed by a boa constrictor rightly refuses
to become a hat which is such a bigoted symbol of bourgeoisie
emotions flow swiftly and guide mere rational thoughts into retreat
harmonize what will so often remain unbalanced and superfluous
when depression dances with mania around a moldy berry bush
a solution presents itself in acceptance surrender and growth
just as useful is to see the world through an innocent child’s lens
a kaleidoscope needs no interpretation and mirages are divine
witches zoom on broomsticks under guise of cleaning brigades
clairvoyants offer an unadulterated future becoming of mature age
if only the wars of all nations were fireworks only praising the night
yet in trial error and tribulations a skillful magician soothes my soul
26th July 2020
Close on three hundred fifty years ago
American independence
not foregone conclusion,
British soldiers in league with Hessians
witnessed successful campaign battles
admirably groomed unbridled
staunch defenders, viz King of England
fought pitched battles
within keystone state i.e. Pennsylvania
particularly tri county area
Montgomery, Delaware, and Chester
routed Continental Army,
within thick wooded forested lands
interspersed amidst open fields
during closing twelve month period
(seventeen seventy seven)
following drafting
Declaration of Independence
bloody campaigns challenged
general George Washington
eminent Virginia homeboy
(born February 22, 1732
Westmoreland County),
he throve spectacularly,
when his metal (albeit military)
severely contested throughout
successful battles and/or defeats
acquiring near legendary
(rock star status)
even among sympathizers
for English rule
some ordinary everyday
quotidian country folk
inclined to side with the enemy,
unlike unfettered, unquestioned,
untrammeled...patriotism
trumpeted today (yeah right),
approximately (my benchmark)
twelve generations removed
(hypothetically asserting
twenty five orbitz
around sun equals cohorts
during Colonial America era),
said lauded first founding father
possessed inherent instinct
to rouse enthusiasm
ragtag army initially displayed
attendant with birth pangs
oven inchoate nation, whose
patriotism starkly divided
and easily bled
toward royal dominion
many occasions turning rogue
surrendering secret information
renegade subsequently
fought alongside Redcoats
thus, twas a fluke of circumstances
outstanding English brigades
topped off with
dollop of allied troopers
experienced starved resources
literally costing motherland
arm and leg
to sustain outnumbered,
less skilled colonial rebels.
Farmer Wade is going around, and raising morale, is what i've found, with the
Billboard battalion; strong on the ground.'
All Aussie warriors, may-be you know? How they Astound '
Some of 'our heros' who want to go.'
And they will do it right, will not be baited.)
I let all know.! And stand in solidarity, I guess its fated.?
A land of hero's each one i treasure.'
Thats not debated, Standing to count, the traitors and foe's
Agressors.' All blessings, i bless you' in unity; to victory go! into brigades form may your numbers
Rise..' I salute you all you men and women
Keep tight keep active, and plan for a winning. And no surprise.!
They once cheer-led the working class,
until they were useful no more,
now they call all of them ‘racist,’
to be hated and deplored.
Ignoring that it’s wholly sane
to fear losing a scarce job
to an illegal immigrant,
to be well and truly robbed.
But all of this was done before,
it’s a cold and brutal fact,
the left created old Jim Crow,
bigot votes feathered their hats,
until they decided dark folks were good,
and handouts their votes did net,
one day they will be cast off too,
there’s nothing left within the left.
They once championed free speech,
now they’re singing a different tune,
if they don’t like what you’ve to say
then they just try to censor you.
And if you still keep talking,
they send out PC-hate brigades
to mob your home, get you fired,
take everything you love away.
If you mention the rule-of-law
all you’ll hear is their laughter,
associate with one of their foes,
they’ll throw you to a prosecutor.
If they find no crime they make one up,
it’s the tactic that they like best,
no cares for justice or the truth,
there’s nothing left within the left.
If you should dare to worship,
try to live by those beliefs,
they’ll say you are ‘intolerant,’
that you conscience is ‘bigotry.’
And yet should any one of them
break a single P.C. law,
they’re ostracized and cast right out,
without a single moment of thought.
When you point out that they have just
chosen a different, unproven faith,
they cry “Fascist!” or just stand there
with a blank look on their face.
Unless, of course, you join Islam,
then they cry,”Don’t even jest!”
Up ’till the day they get blown up…
there’s nothing left within the left.
They still cling to socialism,
though it fails and devastates,
they’d rather rule a ruin then
admit they have made a mistake.
They push us towards a civil war,
if we are not already their,
and the shocking thing about it
is that they do not seem to care.
Power is all they’ve left to crave,
they jones for it like and addict,
if they break lives in its pursuit
then they are just fine with it.
No love of freedom still remains,
morals and principals bereft,
the walkaway folks have it right,
there’s nothing left within the left.
Except maybe death…
The Pro: "Timmies grow under the heather yes, we hear that too, the shale rocks earthen faults and spouts meters and rhythmic soornteens like ask the cold fall moon."
Samara: "Oldest wept upon bridge, the lovers crest cradles the lover's bridge, two brigades that hold together the trust of men and women at arms, like wings sent Demeter into the fog
Samael: "Came, went, it's always the same, the old lion's mane, the goat's beard is the fashionable game."
(Anonymized character) "Stellar! Like the fickle few! We shouldn't press too much wine to winny while we mew!"
Helel: "Tomorrow never dies, the like-minded sun repressed, never dies in the night twin flames of tomorrow's best."
Aurora: "Timidity be slow upon the river pale the horse-drawn carriage has foregone the bitter yales."
Uraeal: "Goosed up for the gander? Myne thyne fyne lynes are wolly and not prancer!"
Gladius: "Gooseflesh la'amore? Sinnder down the doors and let from that lovingly pour!"
---End of act I---
Condo Commando Landings
They came in shiny silver saucer shaped air ships
With cylindrical flashing red lights in the night
From Planet New Jersey
Alien space crafts…. I mean .… weather balloons, (according to NASA)
From many light years…. I mean… traffic lights away
Landing in Miami first with a thirst for power
They slithered from the… ‘Weather balloons” in zombie brigades
Heads tilted, drooling, snorting and looking for trouble
Your condominium community is their new headquarters
Condo commandos are here to stay
A cruel fiduciary species without any borders
Going from door to door
Giving owners & tenants lists of rules with magnitudinal orders
Millions of regulations, line item expenses, and assessments
You must fulfill….You will fulfill…you will comply or die!
“Resistance is futile!” They cry…. Or mumble…or moan
Or whatever it is the walking dead do
If you walk on pavements you will be fined
If you have babies they must return to the womb
No plants…. No flowers… No signs on your condos
And keep your doors closed at all times
Don’t think about crime. Don’t ask any questions
And pay your condo dues or be sequestered
Entire brigades of verses
traipse back and forth, word by word
in the theater of my mind.
They wait this captain’s orders
to pass the roll call of muster.
Each lettered soldier carries
weighty weapons of great strength.
I choose my warriors cautiously
and grapple with revisions
required before the final draft.
Comes the posting of my piece
on the reader’s battleground
where winning means transporting thought.
Oh to translate for my troops
but my campaign's not on that field.
# # #
Consider those grave captains
who recorded God’s own words.
Holy, treasured inspiration
flowed from His Spirit to theirs
shielding, steering His message home.
When I read King David’s psalms
or epistles from St. Paul
that same Spirit guides my thinking
an epiphany occurs –
I hear the very voice of God.
January 3, 2011