Long Coddle Poems
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Itinerant mercenary shrouded with penitent robe
Shining beacon for terrorists around the globe
Hermetic curmudgeon; gun-toting xenophobe
Zealous provacateur who for ardent jihadists did probe
Material wealth a means; establishing a caliphate the end
Seeking Arab-royalty's, sovereign-sheikdoms to rend
Scourge of terror to blight all that western values defend
Sharia law to govern Middle East; Allah's dividend
Great Satan's engine to throttle
Region's fealty to bottle
Suicide pilots struck the monuments we coddle
Gratuitious shards and blood stains did the landscape mottle
President Bush promised swift revenge
Ordered Taliban to stop Osama's bloody binge
Mullah Omar reneged; Bushes' saber rattling had a malodorous tinge
U.S forces did the Taliban's quarters singe
Alquaida's overseas operations are diminished
But Alquaida's mission not finished
Alquaida cells in Iraq, Afghanistan bravely battle, mettle distinguished
Nevertheless, the infidel forces not extinguished
Gitmo detainees probed for information
Trite torture brought about stunning reformation
Stressed warrior's fealty to leader declined in isolated station
Under duration, divulged details about Bin Laden's method of operation
Osama's couriers cover blown
Seeds for fruitful harvest are sown
Courier's redoubt canvassed with satellite, drone
Intelligence on compound, residents CIA did hone
Calculated risk; Navy Seals in choppers did alight
Flying quietly with fiery portents into the calm night
Hoping the briny tentacles of terror to blight
Cresting over the shadowy compound; objective in sight
Down the dangling ladders vigilant Seals did repel
Into the throes of darkness descending into the mouth of hell
Perimeter defense, early warning signals were of no avail
Osama's stunned tenants could only stand fast or bail
Each obstacle, human shield the Seals did meticulously fell
Carefully following the trail to the Holy Grail
Entering Osama's room, rending the sacral veil
The caged warrior with precision did shell
Osama's dead body packed in a unmarked crate
Transported vicariously to lab, identity to equate
Identity confirmed; vigilant menace had met his fate
Un-consecrated remains tossed into sea; watery tomb his final estate
Quail not at Death’s door if you wrought no wilful harm
Quail not at Death’s door if you wrought no wilful harm
Should turning back in vengeance be the Dead Man’s qualm
Though even as the end nears the comfort of proffered pardon
Will in no way replace the sacrifices to expunge the burden
Sure everyone wreaks harm by chance or through ignorance
During those moments when control depends on circumstance
The way the chips fall is not a matter for individual call
Is not that the way centillions of quarks knock into it all
Do the Dead turn back to set right their splintered houses
Or do the worlds keep spinning guided by original causes
Tell not the man whose wits desert him what’s really wrong
The punishment the Dead incur is a judgement well foregone
He who turns self-righteously around to avenge or to meddle
To set right the world’s injustices in the Manichean treadle
Might earn himself a life’s sentence to roam all over again
Dead people walking numb through friendless terrain
All they may be able to do is to warn you of a fiddle
Of some danger sapping your strength the key to a riddle
Even if friends and relatives who betrayed your confidence
Will cling to spurious justifications ever through repentance
Think not of the lives milling lost in the neck of your clouds
Is there no end to ramifications vilifications in livelihoods
Do the Dead take along with them the history of their lives
And in which distant sibling planet are they stored in archives
If only it were as easy as to look up and wish them all away
What good can this earth be with us all dead in it anyway
Bickering for pieces of molten land pieces of names in decay
Metals and rock on fire hurtling down minuscule Milky Way
What need has the Maker for such a vast and roving Empire
Even children give up playing with trains and coaches on fire
Do the Dead renew passports before entering galactic spaces
Or do they coddle up in comfort in inalienable birth-places
Wouldn’t our world be some thing else but for this baffling secret
The foregone fate of earth-born gods if it weren’t for this regret.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Pain is falling. Into your arms; pain is calling. Answer me! Pain says. Pain says jump. Anguish says how high sir. And the sky's the limit. It's right there. Here in your face; can you touch it? You cannot! Says Pain. Fear hides behind its stalker, awaiting wrath. Judgment withstood beside Pain and the verdict is in. GUILTY. Come again? GUILTY YOUR HONOR; sir. Bow down to Pain. Crumble beneath pains' ridicule and fall...Into Pain's arms. Snuggle with you? Pain will coddle you until you forget all of your dreams. Hope floats away. Bye bye hopes and—See you later those dreams.
Pain says never. Again we buckle under the pressure, of Pain. Hate hoards our love, collecting—An emotional miser of goodness sakes. Hate simply takes and hate takes...takes...but you just you wait...We have enough of our own strengths. We mustn't let hatred to take...take...take...
Fall out of love with this Hate...hate...out of love with this hate. Back in love with our fate. Knowing...I got what it takes...takes...I got what it takes...oh goodness my grace...put me back in my place and end this whole chase...whole place of this chase...Pain Pain go far far away. I say pain go away...Way...wait.
I need more than one plate. You all break with this slate. I'm done chalking up crapes.
I'm strong like an owl. And ya'll smell fairly foul. So times come to be towered. And I hoo hoo like an owl. Out of my circle, leave this powwow. I'm all over this now now. And Pain falls to the ground round; and...Hate trips on his towel. They both sit in time out now. Pain is gone now I'm falling—into grips with my calling. Reconnect with my family; and own up to ole' Sammy. Finally doing the damn thing. And this ending is happy. But don't let Pain gain way into your backseat. Life's a journey, don't call you the wrong taxi. Time has come, Pain go head try and get me, cannot catch me. Yes sir, (says Pain) just don't put me back into that taxi. I say that's right look right at me. When you speak talk about me. No more hate, pain is now but a memory. Hopes and dreams, love and family....Pain is falling—But not at me...
-end
8-29-17
12)Coddle- Two fish enrapt in love.
13)Mustard- A diarrhea victim who can wait no longer.
14)Jam Session- A gathering of sweet-toothed weirdos with various jams and
jellies.
15)Coffee Table- An occasional table made of stale and hard coffee beans.
16)Condom- A very stupid prisoner.
17)Confederate- An inmate who nourishes his cellmate with food he sneaks
from the mess hall.
18)Condiment- A mint left on the pillow of Condolezza Rice's hotel room bed.
19)Metaphor- The reason you met her.
20)Meteor Shower- Cleaning meteors in your shower.
21)Osmosis- A female relative of the Osmond Brothers.
22)Gradute- A successfully educated studend ingested by a cannibal.
23)Grab Bag- A purse snatcher's job.
24)Wind Instrument- A guitar lifted and tossed in a hurricane.
25)Destitute- A broke prostitute.
26)Easygoing- Being tied in a wheelchair and pushed down the steepest street
in San Francisco.
27)Castrated- Judging who belongs in what pecking order in the movie cast.
28)Animosity- Dislike of mice.
29)Barn Dance- A group of barns dancing in a hurricane.
30)Carpeting- Gently stroking an automobile you love.
31)Chirk- A Cherokee idiot.
32)Coddle- Embracing your fish prior to frying.
33)Extraterrestials- Coming from another planet, or from Camden, New Jersey.
34)Hail Mary- A religious woman bombarded in a hail storm.
35)Hair Dresser- The absurd practice of putting dresses on one's head.
36)Homely- When poor ugly Lee is home.
37)Antacid- A psychological hallucinogenic drug favoered by hippy garden
insects.
38)Moron- An overdressed person of limited intelligence with far too much
cologne on.
39)Precession- The last days leading up to an economic downturn.
40)Martial Arts- Paintings done by Western town Sheriffs.
41)Spouse- A married rodent.
42)Consort- Dividing criminals by crime categories.
43)Debaunchery- When de bunch of us Brooklyn guys goes out on de town.
44)Drag Queen- When us guys from Brooklyn beat up and haul around
somebuddy from Queens.
45)Dragoon- Da dumb guy from Queens dat we got above.
I cradled his head in my arms and sang him a lullaby,
cradling the m o m e n t,
cherishing every second more,
then, when it was time . . .
I placed him in his f o r e v e r coffin bed.
An odd bed for a little baby boy,
his little head lay on a b l u e as the sky pillow,
he wore his new blue booties,
an ivory christening gown,
and beside him a b l u e teddy bear,
someone had placed there.
As I stood in the funeral home,
I felt so a l o n e and hallow,
although many people surrounded me,
I was l o s t in thoughts . . .
thinking of that empty baby room at home,
there would be no babyhood,
where, I would pamper, coddle and feed him,
no childhood fun, no youth or adulthood,
no ripe old a g e for this boy.
No days or years to cherish him,
no beginning, just this sad end,
so, on the day of his funeral . . .
I sang him a l u l l a b y to last forever,
and I handed him over to the Lord,
I whispered, Lord, cradle my boy in your arms,
until in your time, I can once more.
The cars followed the hearse in a long line,
through the ornate cemetery gate,
and down the w i n d i n g roads with BENDING trees,
even the birds in the cemetery,
stopped their s o n g . . .
until at last, we reached the place of tears,
standing there cradled by family l o v e ,
all that could be heard, drifting,
was the lullaby, I sang . . .
_____________________
June 29, 2016
Free Verse(lost love)
Submitted to the contest, Your Best Free Verse Love Poem,
sponsor, John Hamilton
Seventh Place
_______________________
Submitted to the contest, Free Verse About Love,
sponsor, Laura Loo
First Place
_______________________
Submitted to the contest, Free Verse,
sponsor, ?
NA
Thank God
The sun is shining, somewhere
maybe i'd not be whining, were i only there
though here, rains wash over me, and i am chilled
thanks to Jesus, i live forever, here or there, live, or killed(hey, it rhymed!)
so am i cold and weary, taxed and bled
i only need to stop, and look ahead
in the direction of societies eventual correction
for a God, hard at work, in the Servants section
moving through, prompting, helping the good we do
my thanks to the Holy Trinity, and to you
seeing goodness revealed within the lives we lead
i am made aware that the world "has", and yet's in need
so i can look forward with eager awating
into the future with calm, anticipating
a moment, maybe today, or tomorrow
with no more feet of clay, or sorrow
when the goodness of God in man
will not be just a sign, or temporary plan
but merely a step, from okay for now, to a God"like",eternally
when we, who know Christ, will see
what we, alone, can never achieve
be "of", or "in", or even so much as believe...in...
.....True Love.......
we have no Love, such as "His", with which to compare
to be with God, in a real sense, to feel Him there
even in the vaguest way,to know that we are not alone
almost trips my circuit breaker, that my Maker would condone
to pay attention to me, a gnat, a mote
in the grand symphony of life, barely a note
still, 'tis i that Jesus loves, and you
and Him that i love, to feel, and to do
of His pleasure, as well as i can
which is downright embarrassing, being only a man
such love, that He would notice, or care for me at all
even listen, nevermind answer, when i call
such is True Love
as if we would indulge, or listen to a flea
to pamper, and coddle, and answer their every plea
all of them
to love them
really, we give ourselves far and away to much credit, most of the time, we really do
if you really knew God, you'd know what i'm talking about...
Atlanta is better described these days as: A T L A N T A S E R
1. Because Rayshard Brooks was killed for being tough enough - & drunk but innocent & cooperative with cops - yet wresting the offensively deployed taser;
2. The ex-cop was mean enough to kill to get the TASER back, rather than confess to his superior the facts re. his call to Wendy's about a car in their Drive Thru (The man was drunk but wise enough to want to eat, sadly he did not get his food and some sobriety back, just last winks before being killed);
3. I will NOT coddle all those apologists for slavery, colonialism, abortion - even of Rayshard Brooks - because killing a baby & Rayshard Brooks is the same in the Bible: all LIFE matters. If u wish to remain in denial & write sick love poems - with not even courage to watch police videos, but all others - that is your freedom. 'wish Rasyshard Brooks & George Floyd were allowed their freedom & day in court before being executed in the streets by your heroes.
4. Americans just want to be told they are great. Even that God alone is great. I taught Civil War courses in Lynchburg Virginia, in the South, where Lincoln is hated even today. You try that as a non-white Professor! I had the balls, thank you Jesus. I know the Lincoln will not want to teach you policing. Maybe Washington would, he was a SURVEYOR - he surveyed the Indian lands in the Ohio Valley & coveted them. The British said No, you have the 13 colonies ... enough is enough. The Indians got our promise to have their lands in the Ohio Valley. George and company (Yes, there were companies called Virginia Company of Ohio before the Revolution of 1776). FREEDOM for USA meant no lands assured to Indian First Nations in North America. "I came, I surveyed, I stole & killed many witnesses!" That's greatness? shalom, shalom (Yes, I forgive because Jesus forgave me. But U?)
Maria Flores
1878-1923
Si, he was muy macho!
I was the last to see him.
Before Senor White sealed his body for eternity,
Inside the cheapest casket I had ever seen!
And I was working there, for White-Emerson,
From the time I was 16,
Combing the dead’s hair, and mixing make-up.
Señora White, she put the make-up on their faces,
And I stood back by the door and watched.
At first, it was two or three bodies a week,
Mostly white folk, stiff and cold as ice;
They were Whittier people I did not know;
Older folk with life’s road behind them,
And young childer, brought in by wailing parents,
Dead from sickness and accident.
I prayed for these poor people because they were sad.
Later, the visits of the ever-marching dead,
Became a more common event,
Every day he, Señor White, brought the dead in,
Every day I combed their hair.
This I did until I myself died in 1923,
Giving birth to my still-born son.
Then it was my turn for Señora White,
To apply my face with fake life;
Her creams, rinses and perfumes, magically,
Made me appear as alive as I was.
But oh, I wish now to trick fake death,
And live again,
Be there again,
Down in the dark embalming room,
There at White Emerson, with him.
Si, he was muy macho!
And yes, I was the girl to love Roscoe last!
Me, a nobody Mexican with little money.
Shh, let us whisper now.
Let us be quiet and honest;
I was the last one to coddle him there,
The last to stroke his lifeless bill,
My eagle of a man!
There in the still darkness,
He, the most handsome boy,
My eyes had ever seen!
Dead and lifeless there,
In my secret embrace!
Dead in my controlling grasp!
I combed his locks for two hours,
And prayed, yes, I prayed,
For his departed soul, and body too,
For, let it be known to all,
For it no longer matters at all,
I was the last girl to have him.
Muy Macho!
You are not the victim
Stop trying to manipulate the situation
We are all seeing
We are all knowing
We are all loving
Not you
So when we change the narrative
And put your hate in the spotlight
Don't use our discomfort
Our resistance
And our need for justice
As a way to use your tears
To make you the victims
But you won't get our sympathy
Nor our empathy
Your guilt is not our problem
You won't one up us
And we will call your bluff
We have generations of fight in us
You should know this
We have always had to fight for the right to exist
Because of your hatred
So excuse us for not buying it
We have rights and we will not submit
We are not here to coddle your ego
And make you the hero
When your actually the villain
We see right through the bull
That you spew
To manipulate the narrative to suit you
Well you
It takes a special type of evil
To kill us
Enslave us
Falsely incarcerated us
Exclude us
And every horrible thing you did to our ancestors
The when we speak up
You try to silence us
With your tears
Don't ever try and tell us how to feel
Do
Not
Say that we are always playing the race card
When it was you who did that us
So you could own us
And yes everything is about race
Because you made it about race
The foundation of the world is built
Off of the enslavement
Of us
So try and take a hard look in the mirror
Because it was never about us
Being dangerous
Being predators
Being aggressive
Or being a threat
It was about you throwing a tantrum
About how we consistently rose from the ashes
To take back our freedom
You can't stand our intelligence
Our resistance
Our resilience
You can't comprehend
That no matter what we will always love our blackness
So let us ask you a question
Is it because your jealous
No matter the answer
Your racism disgusts us
They fell in love and married when she was about the age of twenty.
He knew she liked to talk since she'd already bent his ears aplenty!
She could babble at twenty miles per hour with gusts up to forty!
His mother warned him, "Son, this woman will surely damage your corti!"
Even when in a romantic mood and with her he'd like to coddle,
She would rant and carry on with her incessant twaddle!
She'd prattle at forty miles per hour with cyclonic gusts of seventy-eight!
Only when she'd begin to snore would her unceasing blather abate!
They attended their college reunion and he was embarrassed to death!
She dominated each and every conversation and didn't take a breath!
She gabbled at thirty miles per hour with occasional gusts to fifty!
He hesitated to tell her so but as an auctioneer she'd be mighty nifty!
At her family reunions it sounded as if they were speaking in tongues,
Like the rabble at The Tower of Babel, bellowing at the top of their lungs!
Babbling on and on seemed to be an inherent family trait!
They'd chatter at fifty miles per hour with gusts exceeding ninety-eight!
When his spouse said the grace she'd chat with the Lord ad infinitum,
Asking Him to bless the food and all God's children beginning with Adam!
When she left for Beulah Land, on her stone he had this message etched:
"I could never get a word in any-wise and that ain't too farfetched!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
A little homework assignment - if you don't know what the word "corti' means,
look it up in your handy-dandy Funk 'n Wagnalls!