Long Button down Poems
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I suspect in my feckless youth my folks thought me rather slovenly,
Obnoxious, averse to work and associated with dubious company,
But Air Force sergeants dealt discipline with lingo at times unsweet,
Convincing me that life is easier if things are regular and complete!
They taught me to hang my clothes on hangers all facing the same way,
With buttons buttoned and shoes shined which I observe to this very day.
I prefer button-down collars; my pants must have a crease and pleat,
Because you see, I insist on things being regular and complete!
The Caddie DTS must be washed and waxed to a perfect sheen,
And when dining out, woe to the chef who screws up my cuisine!
My lawn must at all times be the best manicured on the street,
Because you see, I insist on things being regular and complete!
My barber must see that my eyebrows and hair are neatly trimmed.
The barkeep must serve my beer ice cold with all the suds skimmed.
I like folks who keep their word, show up on time and are discreet,
Because you see, I insist on things being regular and complete!
I detest cell phones and the 'magpies' who on them endlessly blather,
Especially when driving or dining; they work me into a seething lather!
I reckon some folks think me an old curmudgeon and rather off-beat,
But dad gum it, I insist on things being regular and complete!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Lasting Forever
David J Walker
On the first morning
After a lifetime of making a living
I can only think of leaving
the Army
And how empty
I felt left and on my own at 21
The days of OD Green or Khaki’s and
Especially Class A’s
Were all done
I remember thinking three years
would last forever
Now
The Blue Blazer- Red Tie uniform hung
By my gray pants over the shiny black Oxfords
That were worn … uniformly
With a starched white button-down shirt
For forty years
Are a source of silent memories
It appears
I am no longer authorized
To wear the disguise
Of an educated worker
I remember thinking forty years
would last forever
I'm just an old-fashioned, flannel lumberjack shirt.
My father was some overalls, a farmer of dirt.
I'm a worn out and holey pair of cotton socks,
An unwanted sweater, packed away in a box.
My son's a fancy ascot living in New York City.
He can't be cut from the same cloth, he's too pretty -
A button down shirt, a jacket of fine leather,
A whole different sort of men's wear, altogether.
I'm aged pair of wing-tips, no longer employed,
Split along the sides, by overwork, nearly destroyed,
Living in the shiny black dress shoe memories of
Backless gowns, diamonds, stilettos and satin gloves.
I'm a quiet and unassuming pair of jeans,
A t-shirt with a picture of natural scenes,
A pair of rubber sandals, and a worn out straw hat,
A beachcomber, escaping the race of the rat.
I'm shorts on the way to the laundry in a sack,
An old hat that's traveled around the world and back.
Though I may have a loose thread that needs a snip,
Still, this hat gives life an appreciative tip.
Look in my closet and what will you see?
First is the shoe holder hung on the side of its door.
It holds shoes sometimes not matched up and some I rarely wore!
Tightly pressed together are many clothes you’ll see.
I think you’ll find them hung here quite haphazardly.
There are lovely tops and sweaters in many style and hues.
Many are clothes from which an average sized woman could choose.
See the cute black velvet-feeling top I’m looking at now
with its many white-faced cats saying “Are you kitten me right meow?”
A nice, red button-down Christmas sweater has black beads for trim.
It hangs close by a bunch of leggings ready for the gym.
A sweater that’s embroidered with flowers pink and blue
hangs near a long-sleeved dress with flowers on it too.
A practical black shawl is hung above a pair
of faded blue jeans which at times are too tight to wear.
A Rudolph top so playful hangs nearby an aqua suit.
A modest skirt this suit has and a scarf that is so cute.
Another skirted suit outfit has black stripes over gold.
Near it is a dark blue dress with a slit up the side quite bold.
Oh, here’s another suit of gold and checkered in design.
The pairs of jeans in here (if you can locate them) must number at least nine.
A leopard leather jacket with sexy pants so tight
is near a flared-out, long, bright skirt and a blouse that’s white.
A long blue fluffy bath robe hangs aside a purple-dotted top.
There are so many other things, I think I soon should stop.
On the shelf above the clothes are many purses; in a box
are lots of different types of belts and some holiday socks.
You’ve seen enough by now. But oh, my summer clothes!
They’re in a spare room’s closet. No time to show you those.
Charles Bukowski Road Not Chosen
While reading Charles Bukowski poetry
On the metro ride home
Listening to Buddha bar music
On my oh too hip IPod
I begin to see myself as I was
Over 30 years ago when I was merely a bit player
A minor character in a Charles Bukowski poem
A wild young underemployed intellectual
Hanging out in dismal bars and dives all over Asia and California
Hanging with disreputable women and drunks and drinkers
And characters out of his kinds of haunts
A mad poet bard of the underground
A drunken poet in a drunken bum show
That nightly played in his head
Then one day I met the women of my dreams
And went down a different path
A long slow path to respectability
And now 30 years later
I am no longer a wild man
I am still a poet at heart
But I am now also a bureaucrat
In a button down suite
Doing the people's business
Working for the Government
I've become the Man
Sometimes I wonder
Would I have been better off
Going down that another path
Would I have ended up
Somewhere else
Doing something else
Would I have been as happy
Would I have been as successful?
There is no answer that satisfies
The longing in my heart
For that wild thing
That still lurks beneath
It's civilized cover
And I know that I am still
A mad poet at heart
Railing against the injustice of the world
As I work day by day in the belly of the great beast of State
I recall the ancient Chinese saying,
"Confucian during the day while Taoist rebel at night"
Playing out in my head and nightly dreams
In the true American Upper class patrician tradition
I close the book and look out the window
Get off the train, and walk slowly home
And realize I had no choice
But to take the path that I’ve trodden on
And so I put aside my misgivings
And say goodbye to my "Bukowskian"desires
For another night of domestic contentment
Was it worth it all to take the conventional path
And not take the bohemian road to hell and back
I look at my wife and realize
I had no choice, had no choice
But to follow her to the ends of the earth
And beyond by her side as we walked our path
Of shared destiny
Goodbye Charles Bukowski wherever you are
May I meet you in a bar in the next life
And figure out where we should have gone
Until then the drinks are on me.
Button up, and strut,
grab the cane and the hat,
she’s got her favourite clutch and such,
who knows with girls and their pearls,
The lights shine bright,
the greasers start a fight,
but it’s Saturday, so it’s quite alright,
sittin in the club,
waitin for some grub,
grab a tab, we jab and josh and slosh,
The bass stands upright,
and so does the crowd,
she’s got that beaded dress fitting so tight,
curves singing out loud,
bunny hopping to beats,
and keeping that scotch real neat,
Hair up high, in a beehive,
oh behave darlin we’re daring to dance so close,
we got those air ride dreams of pure hope,
concept cars and velvet ropes,
let’s take it to the show,
We saved all week for a night like this,
a little shine, a little bliss,
didn’t take much cash to feel first class,
just a jukebox glow and a dance that lasts,
now the prices climb and the nights get thin,
but oh, we remember where we’ve been,
Beep boppin to the retro gaze,
it’s easy to look back in a lavender haze,
in Button Down Town, we shine what we’ve got,
pressed up dreams and a Saturday shot,
yeah, we lived it up proud,
in our button down crowd,
Beep boppin to the retro gaze,
it’s easy to look back in a lavender haze,
in Button Down Town, the nights felt long,
chrome bright hopes and a jukebox song,
yeah, the world spun slow
in that lavender glow,
It was the summer of love. I was eight -
south in the California state
with discipline, the War, and hate.
I wore a button down shirt
and hard black shoes that always hurt,
but in my heart, no one could deny
a tie dye in July.
Ten years later, I was released
to freedom, love, and peace.
made of real cotton, not of fleece.
A rainbow appeared, my mind was split.
I took a California sunshine hit
at Venice Beach, eight miles high,
wearing tie dye in July.
On time's pedal, someone hit the gas -
ten years gone, not all things last.
George once said, "all things must pass",
so, at a corporate conference
a cool free shirt and pretence -
something was awry
as I wore tie dye in July.
As we two, in a poem's words unite,
I'll tell you my best memories, tonight.
They were rainbow colors, ever bright;
and, whatever it all meant,
when, to Heaven, I am sent,
I hope that I will fly
wearing tie dye in July.
Some fellers like to make fashion statements with their dress,
But I'm a rather conservative dude (much to my wife's distress!).
I'm fine with loafers, button-down collars and pleated slacks.
I'm not taken with tailor-mades, I prefer to buy off the racks!
Some dudes make a statement with the T-shirts they wear,
Sharin' their philosophies with others (who don't really care!).
They tout their favorite beer, sport and even some nasty words!
Lord, spare me from wearin' such - I'm OK as one of the nerds!
The latest fad is sandals, tank tops and droopy shorts,
And displayed on their hide, suggestive tattoos of all sorts.
They're mutilated with things piercin' their nose and ear,
And to top it off, wear their baseball cap facin' to the rear!
I'll deign to wear a suit and tie to weddin's, funerals and such,
But I'm here to tell you, I don't relish it very much!
I'd rather wear jeans (of course with button-down collar!),
And a fancy belt with a buckle as big as a silver dollar.
Lord, forgive me for judgin' fellers by what they wear,
By what their T-shirts preach or how they wear their hair.
But, Lord, permit me to say, I've seen some rather curious sights,
But I reckon they have a right to express their First Amendment rights!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
When the children are off the chain, off the wall, over the moon with behaviors all crazy,
The teachers all look toward The Farmer’s Almanac and say, quick and don’t be lazy.
Barricade the doors, lock the windows, button down the hatches, a full moon is coming our way.
Yes, it is easy to see that tomorrow is going to be one of those “Oh my God”kind of days.
If you think this is silly, then you have never had the honor of being stuck in a school with twenty-two.
They can get you so riled, so worked up, so frustrated, that you will turn all kinds of blue.
Not every day, because the full moon is not out every night, but on the days that it is clear,
Teachers can tell you they go home early, exhausted, wiped out, and have the biggest kind of beer.
Entered Kevin Shaw's Poetry Contest MOON
Some clothes I don’t wear anymore.
Some weird patterns all over.
Or just a stain from a cursed coffee mug.
The clothes which bring me to life?
Are:
My favorite florals.
Colorful.
I don’t even like green, but still…
Something about this type of green looks good on me.
Well worn yet still soft.
When I wear that lovely jean jacket?
My eyebrows unfurl.
Frilly headband.
Button down, striped shirt.
Orange pants with a purple belt.
I have everything I need-
Except those yellow shoes from the store…
So maybe I’ll get those and donate something else…
Anything else.
Someday.
But for now, I am open to new clothes.
Dear Old T-Shirts:
You’re still nice sometimes.