Long Concocting Poems
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The wizard will know everyone I met along the way said.
Okay, I thought, for I am from Kansas and not daft in my head.
I looked for the curtain as I pranced down the yellow brick road.
Instead of Toto a cairn terrier, I was followed by a frog who looked old.
The mini-munchkins did not come out to greet or to sing.
I never found a scarecrow, tinman or lion with zing.
In the far distance I saw a poppy field, but the flowers looked odd.
An old witch-like creature with wings gave me a head nod.
Where is the wizard? I yelled, kind of half-heartedly.
That’s when I found a lively sassy wise talking oak tree.
Winged monkeys are about, so make haste she warned me.
Fear came into my heart, I’ve seen Wizard of Oz times twenty-three.
I began to run and hit my head on an unexpected branch.
I woke up smelling cinnamon, pumpkin and possibly ranch.
A frog with a wizard hat was concocting some kind of spell.
I wondered if I was still alive or I had gone to…..
Beneath a canopy, Pink laid her head
on cushions satin soft adorned with lace,
envisioning the prince she'd one day wed,
the worship in his eyes as face to face,
they'd make their vows; he'd whisk his bride away. . .
As Pink lay dreaming, Purple brought her quill
(with musings and with words she likes to play),
and sat all night concocting scenes until
the details of Pink's wedding fantasy
emerged as something more from Purple's view.
Romance she'd styled into her poetry
distinctive in its feminine soft hue.
What loveliness from Pink and Purple came-
A poem of Fancy. . . Lavender's her name!
For the All Colors Are In (old/new) any poem on colors Poetry Contest of Skat
*Lavender is my favorite color. A mix of pink
and purple, I think it's the prettiest of the colors!
Can you hear them? The tribal chants
Chanted only when a member advance
Can you feel it reverberating in your bones?
Can you hear the distant tribal people's tones?
With binoculars - watch the tribal daughters dance
There's the chief with a headdress and mask
There's the tribal elder - concocting a potion
There's the diplomatic princess - with all of her devotion
There goes the knights and warriors - ready for the hunt
You can hear the distant fanfare - the trumpets trump
Stop and listen to the maracas bells
Gather 'round the campfire - listening to the stories they tell
Speaking Navajo to the chief - you will soon find
He's marrying off his daughter - 'cause now it's her time
Daiya vegan non dairy cheesecake - oh yum!
Hard knocks Methacton school alum
ofttimes finds ruing his fate
while squarely planted on me bum
disheveled and unshaven,
whereby gray stubble encrusted
with wayward synonymous days old crumb -
after wolfing delectable entitled treat
buttered fingers drubbing upon tabletop
analogous to playing a drum
oy vey, yours truly cannot believe
he ate the whole thing -
argh... my poor tum.
ALDI GIANT supermarkets
(within small radius of miles
from me Schwenksville, Penna abode)
sell delicious delectable treat
goading, inspiring, and spurring me
to craft poem essentially
patronizing manufacturer,
whose skilled food technicians
engineered absolute winning dessert
courtesy their natural born talent
schooled (most likely at culinary institute)
possibly supplemented insync
with advanced degrees
at other institutions of higher learning
after various and sundry
trials and error
concocting mouthwatering secret recipe.
Lemme use hypothetical situation
to accent chew ate,
how alluded dessert tastes great,
especially when rumble in tumbly
clamors for glorious goody
regarding appetite to satiate
unfortunately circumstances
force your truly to wait.
If (the following
constitutes far fetched scenario)
stranded on a desert island,
I after falling to Earth
when parachute fails to open,
weighed down by an excess of
Daiya vegan non dairy cheesecakes,
would finagle an empty pie tin
to signal an SOS.
If left to my own devices,
(where you dear reader
would discover one humbug),
I would be forced to scrounge around
rubbing two sticks together
to create warmth
plus distilling oils -
derived from edible herbaceous plants,
whence I would ejaculate
(not prematurely) - olé
to sauté said greens with wild mushrooms.
'Tis well known that politicians have a congenital proclivity,
For concocting inane babble with audacious creativity!
The nuances that they spin and the postures they assume,
No doubt leave poor Mister Webster spinning in his tomb!
A very lame cliche is, "My words were taken out of context!"
(Didn't we grasp his original view? We are left a bit perplexed!)
"The jury will acquit me!" he said, bidding his peers farewell!
"I never stole public funds!" he asserted from his cell!
"A vast right wing conspiracy is out to get us!" she screamed!
(When things went awry on the shenanigans that they schemed!?
"But, I did not inhale!" he averred looking us dead in the eye!
"It depends on the definition of "is", was his equivocal reply!
"I voted to fund the war, but folks, that's not what I meant!"
(With that wily circumvention, he created considerable dissent!)
He proclaimed, "No American boys will fight in foreign wars!"
(Alas, thousands died in World War Two storming alien shores!)
"Read my lips! No more taxes!" he gravely guaranteed!
Most are heard to say, "I'll never steal, lie or mislead!"
Some gullible souls are charmed by what they postulate;
Please spare me, Lord! I tire of hearing politicians bloviate!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
I should've predicted the dilemma right from the start.
When you parked your car, sideways, across my heart.
Too far gone to see, too emotionally invested to care.
A gradoise illusion to your thousand yard stare.
Feelings of belonging whilst rejoicing in laughter.
My mind simply concocting a happily ever after.
The kick from your beauty internally ingrained.
Any fears and dubiety subsequently waned.
The flame burns alight but old scars remember.
What once shone so bright is now ash and ember.
Dreams of connection shot the nest and flew.
The circle has no end, producing suffering anew.
Validation and consent to toy with my emotions.
Like a child blowing bubbles or a witch making potions.
Conceding I play no part in the life that you chose.
I stare to the sea, that's why they call it the blues.
A wave washes over me, in a figurative way.
As I replay the conversation had on that last day.
Like a beautiful serpent, you hissed 'you should've been flattered'.
As you turned. Walked away. My love story shattered.
deserted area of the town…
lonely Owl hoots tu-whooo! tu-whit…
premonition of a sinister sight!!!!
Eerie midnight …walking through the field,
find three witches asking me to yield,
around a cauldron abominable they look,
wonder what they're brewing following their book!
Are they concocting lizard's leg, toe of a frog
Fillet of a snake, tongue of a dog!
A frightful castle on top of the hill,
does Macbeth live there …I shiver with chill!
An uncanny mysterious moon shines so bright,
silhouettes of ghosts and goblins wander in sight.
Hear deadly werewolves howling and gnashing teeth,
I dread this menacing night, I hardly can breathe.
I scream in terror, the witches signal to me,
I stumble in sheer panic, they wouldn't let me free.
Ohhh…gosh..what a nightmare! what a terrifying night!
Ghoulish things disappeared with bright morning light!
March 22, 2023
Writing Challenge - "N" words Poetry Contest
Theme: Nightmare
Sponsor: Constance La France
SECOND PLACE
The politically correct nonsense of today is so very absurd!
The language of my native land has become so terribly blurred,
By those who devote themselves to concocting such inane idiom.
Such prattle is as puzzling to me as is the element of iridium!
Now, it's chic to refer to postmen and befuddled college freshmen,
As postpersons and freshpersons whether they be woman or man!
Even folks with sticky fingers are given a title deemed more proper:
A shoplifter is delicately called a "non-traditional shopper!"
The wino in the gutter and the falling-down drunken driver,
Are each tenderly referred to as a "substance abuse survivor!"
Even the Father of Creation is no longer referred to as "He".
Monikers like "Daddy", "She" and "A Being" were created by the laity!
The so-called social engineers want to sink without a trace,
Cheery "Merry Christmas" with ill-chosen greetings in its place!
After all, 'tis Christ's glorious birth that we commemorate,'
Not the winter soltice or some pagan rite to perpetuate!
Seems 'tis normal nowadays to blame everyone but one's self,
For problems and predicaments in which one finds himself.
I could go on ad infinitum on this topic but space won't allow,
But I reckon the reader will have perceived how I feel by now!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Of the many things that I like I could go on ad infinitum,
But it would take reams of paper should I list every item!
So I'll confine myself to ten or so things that I like best,
And at some other time I'll bore you with the rest!
I like inscrutable cats and crispy onion rings,
And light classical music featuring melodic strings.
Although some persnickety folks may have their doubts,
Fiddle faddle! I happen to like Brussels sprouts!
I like folks who practice The Golden Rule.
I just happen to like my spouse - she's a real jewel!
I like juicy beefsteak termaters fresh from the vine.
I savor Beringer's White Zinfandel for my taste in wine!
I like concocting poetry though a Shakespeare I'll never be.
I like autumn when crimson and gold cloak every tree!
I could write of pickles and Snickers Bars but I'm limited to ten,
So I must meticulously edit this "masterpiece" and set aside my pen!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 5 in Joe Flach's "Top Ten" Contest - July 2010
A truly wise man's intuition shall forbode him upon concocting a conclusion's to the wonder of
his tale's
Painstaking to avoid such indulgence choosing rather to absolve himself and the parabell at
Prosperities feet to be forged
The unwritten ending can surely never haunt its creator's , For what has yet to be concluded
can never be disputed
Cast unto an un timed Mantle piece clock mesmerizing your thoughts punctuated only by its
language Tick , Tock
Set in black and white pulsing to the beat of ones nature confined only by the subtilties of
thought , Your's alone to read and be privately screened
Played out to an audience weighed down by instilled beliefs , those inquisitive mind child like
in nature tittilated to discover
versus simple mind's blinded by mythology born out of man and perpetuated through ages
devolved of recrimination and reproach
Be your story one of love or of realities soft scented glove waved in ciptulation an order of
surrender to the world that we live in
contrived and contemptuous to our kin our fellows , Taught to disregard out of hand if
society's rules deem them not to be of equal status or standing
May your stories breath light upon darkened times and expose the brittle stage lights which
blur ones sight to the final conclusion the artists staged illusion
To the poor dispurce wealth the sickly unabated health and a commandment of love written
in blood to love that which is nearest your heart holds most dearest
Picture the future with clourfull strokes , care and abandon of a life worth living devoid of
wealth and immune to government stealth
Has history's lesson' not taught us that Hell is beneath us , the Heaven's above us and left
Man in the middle to ponder Gods riddle !