Long Elders Poems
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Down the dirt road of the old farm village,
where the sun sinks low, casting long shadows,
each weathered cottage tells its silent tale.
Creaking porch swings, paint chipped and peeling,
invite a rest for those with stories to share,
as the wind rustles through the ancient oaks.
Narrow lanes, worn smooth by generations,
beckon with memories etched in cobblestone,
and the town square, a hub of quiet gatherings.
Hens cluck in backyards, scratching for stories,
their feathers worn like the pages of a well-read book,
while the blacksmith's hammer rings a rhythmic echo.
Chimneys exhale fragrant whispers of hearth and home,
as the church steeple, a sentinel to the passing years,
marks time with a soft tolling that lingers in the air.
Children's laughter, a lively brook, meanders,
through meadows where wildflowers nod in agreement,
and elders, leaning on picket fences, share the day's musings.
In this old farm village, where time moves slow,
shadows dance on the worn planks of the general store,
and the river, a quiet confidant, mirrors the stories untold.
"What is beauty? Where is it to be found?" the pessimist mused.
"Beauty? - 'Tis to be found all about you!" the optimist enthused.
"For example, nothing will warm the soul or better yet beguile,
Than the beauty in the purity of a little child's smile!"
"But that is such an ordinary thing", the pessimist declared.
"Ah, but simple things hold untold beauty", the optimist shared.
"Look upon the beauty of the earth after a gently falling rain;
Do not the flowers bloom, enhancing the beauty of His domain?"
"I'll grant you that, but tell me more", the pessimist stated.
"Look for inner beauty in others", the optimist related.
"Gaze upon the beauty of our elders, their faces lined with care;
Is there anything more glorious than their silvery crown of hair?"
"You strike me as a learned philosopher", the pessimist allowed.
"No, I simply search for beauty in all things", the optimist avowed.
"Like the water's hymn as it plays its theme upon a flowing creek,
And the beauty of life and love - these are the things I seek!"
"Tell me, is it too late to change my view?" the pessimist sighed.
"Nay, 'tis never too late to start anew!" the optimist replied.
"Beauty and treasure abounds awaiting your full appreciation,
From the merest to the mightiest of God's magnificent Creation!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
The years have rolled by
Hours into days; days into months
Continuous rotation from soft sunrises
To brilliant sunsets on the western horizon
On and on year upon year
Until this tall, slender, white female
Has become an elder, a senior citizen
Or, an old woman; I prefer an elder lady—
With pace slowing from a cheetah to a kitty cat
But, with mental acuity sharp as a razor;
Though the thought processes have changed
From policy and procedure to poetry and prose –
“The purposes is to identify” becomes
‘Love likened to soft velvet”
I’m glad God stopped me from working and said,
“This is what I want you to do now.”
Oh, that my tongue was that of a skilled writer*
Or, that my hand could express what my heart thinks,
How blessed to look at life retrospectively
And see life’s puzzle gradually coming in place
But, still have the sweet wonderment
Of what is yet to be while inhaling the present;
An elder lady with lifetime developed refinement
Combined with a sense of contentment
It is better to be settled in later years
Than the flitting from hither to the yon
Of youth scrambling for meaningfulness
Though that is not true for all youth or all elders;
Searching in crooks and crannies
Wiping away the cobwebs of life
Looking for what may have been or
Ridding the what was and won’t go away
Rainbows, sunrises, sunsets, gentle rains
Add visual flavor and meaning
As the tall and slender becomes bent
And hair turns to silver—
Children rise up to call their mother blessed;**
Sunrise to sunset day upon day
Continually rotating in God’s beauty
From dawn to dusk until eternity
The Demon’s Curse: Hell, to Pay
Sind was a picture-perfect town built on a dark, 93-year-old secret. Deep inside the woods sat the old "Wishing Well." Tourists tossed coins into the water, unaware that far below, behind a heavy golden door, sat a demon named Marcus. For nearly a century, thirty-eight town elders and their descendants kept him locked away. They tortured him to harvest the gold trapped in the well, funding the town's luxury. Over decades of agony, Marcus whispered a rhythmic curse into the stone:
Do not steal from the wishing well spirit,
Don’t open the black door and lock me in,
For there is a curse,
For when I get out,
There will be hell to pay.
Through the years, Marcus waited patiently. He knew that the more gold the townspeople used, the deeper they were falling into hell. He just needed a single, solid soul to do the right thing. Finally, she arrived. Guided by the well, a young woman found the key and unlocked Marcus from his torment.
Free at last, Marcus surged out of the well to hunt his captors. He rounded up the descendants of the thirty-eight elders, closing the ring around them. One by one, he threw them all down into the dark, watery abyss, trapping them behind the door so they could finally pay their own way out. Blowing his flute he sent his curse
Statetly young prince into a village came riding
Prepared to pay the price of bride that he decided
Hearing that in this village one such maiden was residing
In the village an uproar as young maidens were adorned
A feast was called and all the village brought new corn
Meat fit for a king to eat, dried fruit, a fat calf new born
In this village a young maiden plain, homely, quiet spoken
Her aunts, mother, said to fix her shouldn't be undertaken
She would remain home care for family, aged, heartbroken
When all we gathered around the ceremonial table
All the village elders showed the daughters available
The prince looked and stated their qualities acceptible
He kept saying aren't there more maidens that you adore
Well the chief said from one family here there is one more
Bring her please let her grace come to the center floor
This young maiden came with just a simple lamp, flask of oil
The prince felt his heart fill and overflow with joy, no turmoil
This is the one this is my bride the choice for my life unspoiled
He paid the price of the bride in that day one healthy cow
One year later at a distance a watchmen saw a caravan and did bow
As this group can slowly into the village on them did descend
With them there was a herd of cattle fatten the pride of any man
Thousand of them when the count was made
Upon the finest horse one not recognized did parade
She sat with pride a smile on her face
Then all recognized that she was the bride
One so homely now was the cherished prize
When the prince found that his bride was worth rubies
Buried treasure without measure he brought to the village
A thousand cows for she was his prize his joy his bride
In the quietness of night,
The overthinked thoughts of what it might;
While the trembling rain drops made noise,
The teen struggled to just shut the voice,
Having everything under the practiced control ,
While hiding the harsh and brutal faced troll.
Having other say your strong,
Unknown of the teen walking on thorn,
Maintaining the calm fake facade with the internal loud scream,
Wishing it were just a mere bad dream.
And maybe they learned to grow with it,
Still wanted to whine for playing in a sand pit,
Elders say it's bcoz of the influence of phone and friends ,
But who will tell them there is not a lot of whom they tend..
In the quietness of night ;
The overthinked thoughts turns in it just might.
the rains came with thunder, the sky had turned dark,
the kids stopped their playing, and ran from the park,
the animals scurried, to hide in their shelters,
the nurses with wheel chairs, collected the elders,
who sat in the garden, of the aging old folks home,
while beggars were walking, the wet streets alone,
in search of some money, to purchase some booze,
with nothing to prove, they’ve nothing to lose,
the church bells were ringing, the choir was singing,
the preacher was stumbling, had done too much drinking,
policemen had gathered, inside Dunkin Donuts,
discussing how their kids, were acting like grownups,
yes times they are changing, the time now has come,
to come to our senses, no time to play dumb,
kids are much smarter, then when we were growing,
they know so much more, and boy is it showing,
the TV, the radio, the net and the press,
bombarding the airwaves, cause so much stress,
so I packed my bags, escaped from this mess
don’t bother to find me, I’ll leave no address,
Bahamas was calling, I’m lying on the sand,
I drink rum in peace, while watching the band,
play steel drums at sunset, while I hold the hand,
of some island girl, so beautifully tanned,
no early rise, from this wondrous night,
as she waits in bed, I shut off the light.
BLESSINGS ON GRADUATION
Fresh Graduates! Congratulations!
Blessings and admiration
for your hard work and achievement.
Crossed the first fence
showing clearance
to step onward on commitment
of new journey on path of life
challenging every strife
with dulcet dream
to the full brim.
Continue batting in your field
till your dreams are not fulfilled.
May be your motto ‘My Life is mine,’
to access success and to shine.
Modern Generations hold higher intelligence.
But old Generations have genuine experience
to guide and advice: You analyze,
choose and judge on new enterprise.
But respect instructions from elders
to strengthen your shoulders.
Have firm faith to progress.
Be truthful and fearless.
Honest effort endless:
God stays in soul to bless.
04/04/21
' A Graduation Blessing' Contest by BJ Legros Kelley
'All Yours (Apr 20) Contest by Brian Strand
A sign for our times, Dina abducted and raped (See Gen. 34: 1-2)
by a monster named Shekhem, a Hivvite
When her brothers heard
their anger blazed whiter than white
"Such a vile act in Israel is just not done" (Gen. 34:7)
by those who know right from wrong ...
Feel the ardor and the passion of those who are young
oft-contested by their elders with beards so long
Simon and Levi, young sons of Jacob
did not 'sign petitions' or 'form committees'
Within a week they slew 3,000 Hivvite males (all the males...
for whom they showed no misplaced pity ...supported Shekhem)
********
Down through the ages, this story is told and retold
They'd kill all the Jews ~ if not for retaliation swift and bold
Lost Mayans
Ancients who lived long go
Living for the sun and waning moon
Some hoped to be living by noon
Children laughed in the maize fields
As elders struggled for the grasshoppers wisdoms
Life was simple
Daily toils and simple strife
Intermixed with love and social struggles
Lost Mayans
Sifting in my dreams
The ancients have had many a princess
As have I
We both are buried deep within our dreams
Longing for days when love kissed our salty lips
Wine flowed like riverbanks at their brink
Only when the waters ebbed did the sadness make the noon
Now the Mayans are but stories in a book
I often wonder
Who am I?
If not a line
In someone else’s story
Skeletons of love
Inside a burnt out heart
For I myself have nothing to tell
Being lost long ago