Long Chips Poems
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There's a variety of cookies to be had at the local grocery mart.
Famous Amos, Keeblers, Chips Ahoy and others to fill your cart.
All daintily wrapped and scrumptious I will readily concede,
But there ain't nothin' like homemades for my belly's need!
Ah! The delightful aromas waftin' from the kitchen,
Make my tummy growl and gets my taste buds itchin'!
I'm unceremoniously invited from the kitchen while they cool.
I'm restrained from snatchin' some - I can only drool!
I'm aware that makin' homemades will create a heap o' clutter,
But what care I - just so my spouse is liberal with the peanut butter!
You can't go wrong usin' grandma's recipes to make a batch,
Of macaroons, brownies or snickerdoodles from scratch!
There's all kinds of munchies such as popcorn and tater chips,
Macadamia and pistachio nuts and Fritos with fancy dips,
But I prefer cookies for a snack and eat 'em by the fistful.
If I don't get my daily cookie fix I become somewhat wistful!
I reckon I inherited my cookie fetish from my dear old Pa.
His moniker was "Cookie Bill"! He always had a cookie in his paw!
Please etch upon my stone when this earthly plane I flee:
"Keep that cookie jar full of cookies was his fervent plea!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
If I didn't smile so much
Invisible I would have stayed
Instead, he chose me to be
A pawn in the game he played
If I wasn't as strong as I was
Then I wouldn't have been all alone
If my skin was more sensitive
Then the bruises would have shown
If I didn't have these color eyes
His favorite blue like the sea
He maybe would have picked someone
Anyone other than me
Maybe if I explained my words better
So, people would understand how I felt
Strategically I began to play each move
With the hand that I was dealt
I knew how this game would end
And it was winner-takes-all
He placed the first bid
I soon followed with a call
I wasn't going to go down easy
I was going to make it tough
He soon realized this
The moment I called his bluff
The game lasted so long
And I hoped he couldn't tell
Full of fear I was sitting
I made sure I hid it well
Finally, a stroke of luck
I took a chance with no plan
I hoped my cards were better
Then the ones held in his hand
Little to no chips left
I was forced to go all in
Thinking that he had me
I showed my cards for the win
I made it out alive
The memories I can't erase
The game I'm always reminded of
By the scar upon my face
Between us on a park bench.
A pizza box stays a crack open.
Inviting us for another one.
Even when the last slice is all we have.
We flip a coin, which rolls away into the grass.
The wind picks up and we grab the box to carry home.
In the fridge is where we put the slice.
We decided to eat chips and cookies instead.
The way friends do.
I got up at 2:00 am that night.
But she had already eaten it at 1:30.
Chuckling as I grabbed some cheese.
She is watching tv on the couch.
There are no dishes to do.
Which is nice.
So I go back to sleep.
I don’t know why I feel so hungry all the time.
We fought the other day, so she must have dissolved into nothing.
No one has done chores in weeks.
Peeking into her bedroom.
Which is just a closet under the stairwell.
I thought she lived there.
But the spider shook his head.
Getting dizzy.
I need to eat.
Opening the fridge.
A week old pizza slice.
I think I need to do some chores.
In my one bedroom apartment.
Where I try to live.
Poetic musings in the post holi-daze
Living downstairs from the centipede
one dreads the hours of waiting
for the “other” shoe to drop.
the bottom half of the moon smiled
grinning through the haze of dawn
soft glow casting soft shadows
across the glistening hoarfrost
sitting outside the homes
they once filled with joy
green brittle branches crack
under the weight of failed promise
wild spinning whirr of life’s impatience
shatters the silence of snow’s quilt
tosses the ice chips of “reality”
atop the warmth of hidden dreams.
“of what use are gloves
to fingers that comprehend
only mittens”.
In response to the question:
“How many ways up the mountain?”
Religions exert the inane belief
there is only one way up the mountain.
Opportunity no longer knocks.
It can, however, be downloaded.
John G. Lawless
Form:
In days of yore when I was four, in my memory I'm sure
there was nothing that you could buy called low fat
you got meat from a cow, and pork from a sow,
pound of lamb from NZ and that was that.
Butter from a pack, there was nothing that it lacked,
spread it thickly and then top it off with jam
or on it's own when times were hard,
and cook your chips in a pound of lard
and deep fry lots of lovely fritters made of Spam.
On the high days and the holy finish off with roly poly
burn it off by playing footy in the yard,
as we kids all stuffed our faces the majority of cases
found that doing up our laces wasn't hard.
So I think it rather strange how the times they've slowly changed
in our best interests to make us really thin
that the products we are buying really must be surely lying
as so many are now bursting out their skins.
In the papers every morning there's a scientific warning
of the problems that we store up for ourselves
as we go off on a jolly with our supermarket trolley
desperately trying to empty all the shelves.
As I sit and watch the fuss as they struggle on the bus
using scooters sticks and frames to get along
all I'm seeing is human beings and before my thoughts start fleeing
in my head they ask 'where did it all go wrong'?
mr.X may have said,"By any means necessary." In elaborating, I'll say,"By any means necessary which is sensible, logical, rational, ethical, and most of all moral." Lately, all I'm starting to see is a Dead Sea. I'm in no way God. But I hired him. He's doing a terrible job. I should fire him. He justs eats potatoe chips, drinks beer, watches too much t.v, and certainly plays with himself too much. But , I keep him because it is constantly getting harder to find someone willing to work, like me? Well , you know work may be the most obscene four letter word in the English language. Let us pray. oy vey. ( in memory of my maternal 1st cousin Peter. born 1949. died circa 1971. He was the oldest cousin on both sides. I the youngest. born June 30, 1964. The exact same day Ms. Florence Ballard of motown supremes turned 21, the age of Peter, and the age of my maternal 1st cousin Simone. born 1960. died 1981. let us all pray. all the way. thank you. with love.
I can’t love her mind
yet admire the way she shoves it at people
like a battering ram;
always the victim with a golden hatchet.
She thinks I’m a misguided monster –
aren’t we all?
He wants to cancel me
his mother buys nacho chips
by the cart-load
so he never has to leave the basement
he loves like his personal space-pod.
The family, church going man
thinks I’m a weirdo,
and I am his pastor!
"Why don’t you love America?"
I do.
"Why don’t you love what America does?"
Love don’t work that way,
what we allow America to do, that's on us.
"Why don’t you love my lone-again
walk through this strange world?"
I’m with you buddy, but
then again,
you are a lone weirdness
just like the rest of us.
Cold cards cold sweat shuffling cheques
Bait in the water but no one bets
Blinds drag slow the table is tight
Limp to the river it’s hunting night
Sharks circle the weak swim near
I smell blood my time is here
Pocket hustle slick and clean
They chase a wheel they chase a dream
False bravado overplayed
A reckless wager and price unpaid
Flop flips hot my hammer lands
They never saw the reaper’s hand
One step two steps fourth street stroll
A fool’s last chance a final toll
River rolls their fate is set
All in blind one last regret
Their chips are mine their dream undone
I lift the pot the night is won
Dust their stack send them back
ATM bound while I fade to black
We had Gumby
and Pokey,
And Sanford & Son.
We had Mark Spitz,
And Monty Python.
We had Lenny Bruce,
And Chips.
We had the Sex Pistols,
And A Ballroom Blitz.
We had Martin Scorsese,
And Happy Days.
We had the
Stepford Wives,
And Roe VS Wade.
We had What's up Doc,
and the Rockford files.
We had Gay Pride Parade,
and I can see for miles.
We had Women's Lib,
And Emergency.
We had One Flew Over
The Cuckoo's Nest,
And Mohamed Ali.
We had A Star is Born,
And little Chinatown.
We had Jesus
Christ Superstar,
And Foxy Brown.
We had the VCR
And Adam-12.
We had White Lightning,
and Josey Wales.
We had the Gay
Rights movement,
And Dragnet.
We had the Deer Hunter,
and Stanley Kubrick.
We had the Iran hostage crisis,
and a Six-million-dollar man.
We had Carnal Knowledge,
And The Stand.
We had the
Mississippi Queen
And Tony Orlando.
We had Abba singing
about Fernando.
We had Mick Jagger,
And John Wayne.
We had Rare Earth,
And Fire and Rain.
Turbo1904 ?
We never create fancy; the mother-in-law told her son’s bride.
Just bring a sack of chips or something, as long as it’s not fried.
Aunt Carol brings the green bean casserole and the potatoes sure.
Uncle Ed is the only one who can make gravy flat with his stir.
Thanksgiving is casual, and I will host it every year I am alive.
Just bring my sweet son and be at my door by a quarter til five.
The bride offered to bring candied yams, she thought hers were fine.
Sorry, her mother-in-law replied. “If they aren’t mine, we can’t dine.”
What about pies? The young woman queried, trying to please.
I usually bake with my mother, and we make them up in threes.
We have that covered, the woman said. Just be a sweet dear.
Bring my boy home, and you will be more than welcome here.