Long Familyfamily Poems
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I am a white, middle class, American male; raised in a white, middle class American home. I would not say that my upbringing included a lot of diversity.
I remember talking to my brother, Jimmy, just before he told my father he was gay. Jimmy told me about the inner struggle he wrestled with in first admitting to himself that he was homosexual. He said he thought it was wrong; it was sinful and something he must avoid being. Once he realized that being homosexual was not a fault but an innate sexual preference, he decided that he would not live a life of lies. He, therefore, decided to tell his family about his sexual inclination. It took a lot of courage to tell my ex-marine father.
Afi is a beautiful, strong, black African woman; raised in a black, African home. Afi will admit that she is not overly charitable and not likely to do volunteer work. When she first came to the U.S., however, she was appalled with how our society treated its AIDS victims. In Africa, Afi would tell us, AIDS patients were embraced and cared for, not shunned and outcaste like here in the U.S.
Jimmy was not a promiscuous man. He only knew a few sexual partners in his too short life. Jimmy was a very intelligent and artistically gifted man. He was doing post–doctorate research in Iraklion, Greece when he first started showing symptoms of having AIDS.
When Afi volunteered to be an AIDS Buddy she made it clear that she did not want to be paired with someone who had full-blown AIDS. The organization was so hard pressed to find someone with a profile to match Jimmy’s intellect and interests that they begged Afi to just meet him, just once.
Afi says that within an hour she was no longer on a volunteer mission; she and Jimmy
would be friends regardless of a commitment to the Buddy system. Jimmy and Afi
remained best of friends for the two remaining years we were blessed with his presence.
It has been 15 years since Jimmy passed away. I am still a white, middle class, American male; from a white, middle class American family – only now, we have a beautiful, strong, black, African sister in our family.
Exploring the branches of the family tree can be rather dicey.
Some ancestry could be famous, humdrum or downright spicy!
A feller I know decided to take the risk and check around.
I'm not so sure that he was all that pleased with what he found!
Seems that in the distant past a member of his family strain,
Was a notorious pirate marauding the bounding Spanish Main!
Another was a nefarious cattle rustler ever on the vamoose.
Til a posse tracked him down, and stretched his neck with a noose!
One forebear, a scoundrel who specialized in robbing trains,
Was ensconced for life in a cozy cell, detained in heavy chains!
A rowdy ancestor caused a ruckus in a Cripple Creek saloon.
The local sheriff done him in one fateful afternoon!
His lineage included a "business lady", of whom he proudly spoke.
Til I revealed what a "soiled dove" was, dismaying the poor bloke!
His great-grandpa was caught dispensing jugs of potent 'shine.
Revenooers busted him, resulting in jail and a hefty fine!
His uncle was a goon in a notorious Chicago gangster mob.
He met his Maker heisting a bank they were trying to rob!
He proffered a prayer as he examined that tragic family tree:
"Lord! May a sturdy twig adorn this tree and let it begin with me!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
It all began in the summer of 1876, in which Brother Clive Werthings had returned from
feeding the sow. He walked through the kitchen door and into the morning light shining in from the window. With great distress he uttered the following:
“The eyes of the pigs came alive!
Their dead eyes and ordinary pig faces
We’re preaching to me! Squealing
Away with you, away with you! They shouted!
I swatted them with my hands
And as my hand swung towards their pinkish flesh
My fingers turned to hooves!
My arms shrunk to the size of their front legs!
It was blurry, muddy, and I could not think straight
And so I started to pray and I forgave God for all the things
I swore against him if he’d just release me now…
Brother Werthings took a deep sigh as his family of on-lookers watched breathlessly.
He had been to the asylum once, his mother thought in communal privacy with the others.
And now this, she thought. She watched him finish:
“And then he did. He released me.
The next moment I was on my feet
Staring at the stupid pigs.
I simply turned around and
Walked back into the house.
A new man.
Brother Werthings took a profound step forward, consequently out of the ray of sunlight coming in from the window. He then repeated in the shadow:
“I am a new man now.”
The family lived on, living out their lives: a proud ship, slowly rotting in the vast sea. And years from now, one looking out, or looking in, could never know the full truth regarding the validity of Brother Werthings’ statements.
Though on his deathbed, struck by tuberculosis, he demanded on his
tombstone be chiseled:
Clive Werthings
1847-1897
The Eyes Of The Pigs Came Alive!
Unhooking the chain
I opened the rusty gates
to Olive Branch Cemetery
Hallowed ground of yesteryear
Peaceful as the name sounds.
There is a place of comfort sweet
Near to the heart of God
A place where we our Savior meet
Near to the heart of God
Like a white butterfly fluttering from
One headstone to another headstone
where sweet clover blossoms rested their heads
protecting the ancestors of long ago—
Stopping by each one
I gently touch and wonder
Standing on rolling hills of countryside
Six-foot tall or five-foot short
giants of the soil
English honest proud
farmers tilling the land
children by their side helping
with French heritage mother
who listened to the tears,
cooked meals, washed clothes
lesser than the men but carried on.
Walking in time thinking, then
Seeing it!
I lifted up Nancy Emily’s initialed stone
N E P lying on the ground
young farm girl no state aid
rocking her baby boy
For when my heart is troubled, filled with fear,
Jesus whispers peace
Young lad gladdening saddened family hearts.
I wonder her pain kept a secret
Until descendants began to unearth
digging deeper than her simple grave
Nancy Emily, rest well knowing
your descendants are bright and fruitful
healing the sick
teaching children
keeping the law
at home and afar raising children to become.
Whispering hope, O how welcome thy voice,
Making my heart in its sorrows rejoice
Oh! Family of long ago
toiling planting reaping caring
lying now on former fields
with mottled stones announcing your place.
N E P stands upright.
Feeling like a mighty oak tree
faithful and fulfilled,
I leave
fastening tight the rusty gates—
past secured for future
I have little of this world's pelf,
But there is one thing I pride in myself.
I have a family that I deeply treasure.
My love for them is beyond all measure!
Some folks take pride in material goods,
And live in upscale neighborhoods.
I am happy to live a simple life,
With a dear, caring and loving wife!
Other folks take pride to show their fancy abode.
The mortgage I'm quite sure is a terrible load!
I take more pride showing a crib so simple,
Where our slumbering babes display cute dimple!
To further add to my treasure account,
I have grandkids 'til I've almost lost count!
Even great grandkids, can you believe,
Adding more love for the family to cleave!
I would cede all treasure on this earth,
To have family gathered about my hearth,
Exchanging "I love yous" and fond embraces,
And seeing sweet smiles spread upon their faces!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Outside, feathery snowflakes drift slowly to the ground.
Inside, love, fun and cozy fellowship does abound!
The dog and cat snuggle nigh the warm and glowing fire.
'Tis an intimate Victorian portrait that would any artist inspire!
The soft light of oil lamps overshadow the pervasive gloom.
Their flickering flames provide dancing illusions all about the room.
Father settles in his chair with his favorite pipe and book.
Mother's fingers fly with the rhythmic motion of her crocheting hook!
Danny sprawls upon the floor viewing stereoscopic potpourri.
Little Nan serves her dolly, Betsy, scones and savory tea.
Sophisticated Beth with fingers deft is busily tatting lace.
Mother serves hot, spicy cider to all with flawless grace.
The kids play "Find the Thimble" and "Squeak, Piggy, Squeak",
"Hard Boiled Beans" and "Hunt the Ring" with excited shriek!
Mom and Dad join to play charades, to everyone's delight.
Indeed, this has been a very special and happy family night!
Mother plays the pump organ for an impromptu family choir.
Anon, the sonorous toll of the clock declares its time to retire.
Father leads evening devotions as they gather about his chair.
Thanking God for family, friends and home with joyful prayer!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
My grandfather and I had a special relationship.
When I was young we lived near his home in Baltimore. But, my family moved away from
Baltimore when I was five and we lived most of my life in another state far away from my
grandfather. Whenever he called, however, I was the one grandchild he always wanted to
talk to so we could discuss his beloved Baltimore Orioles. I was the one grandchild who
followed sports closely and always remained a true Baltimore sports fan.
Later in life, I learned that my grandfather was actually a gifted baseball player himself when
he was young. In those days, he would explain, professional baseball players did not make
enough money to support a family so he had to make up his mind to either play baseball or
get married and raise a family. As it turned out, his love for baseball was only surpassed by
his love for my grandmother and, although he hung on to the newspaper clippings that
labeled him a “can’t miss professional baseball prospect”, he hung up his cleats and glove,
married my grandmother and went out to find a “real” job.
But his love for the game survived and year in and year out, he and I discussed the
intricacies of the game and enjoyed or lamented each baseball season based on the
successes and/or failures of the Baltimore Orioles. As crummy as the Baltimore bums are
today, I was fortunate enough to experience and share many more successful seasons than
poor ones during those limited years that I shared life with this amazing man.
I always felt sorry for my grandfather, considering him a victim of poor timing. Had he
been born about 50 years later in life, he would not have had to pick between being a
baseball player or earning a living – in fact, with his talent, he could have earned a much
better than average living while enjoying the one thing he loved most in life.
When my grandfather passed away, I was sure that he was joining a heavenly nine to once
again strap on his spikes and don the leather. Without a doubt, they must play baseball in
heaven. And I wait for the day that I sit in the heavenly bleachers and cheer on a young
grandfather playing this wonderful game with other boys of summer.
(Inspired by, “is there baseball in heaven”, by Constance, A Rambling Poet)
You speak yelling
What’s a birthday?
But a cake and candles
You ridicule it heartlessly
You don’t understand
You never did truly appreciate
What we did
You hurt us
You did hurt us
With your thrashing words
With your careless thoughts
I thought a birthday
Is not that at all
It is the moment shared by many
For that person
It is the pleasure tasted by family
For that person
For only that person
I thought again
I await that moment each year
Knowing there is my family
Celebrating that moment for me
Blowing the candles
Making a wish
Closing my eyes with admire
It was all created joy
It was all a living episode of life
It connected laughs
Pictured smiles
Made a difference
But now
That I know there’s no one
There’s no reunion
No joined hearts and blissful souls
No treasured times
Or valued hours
So that it leaves me
To forget
What a birthday is…
Grandmas are experts at baking cookies and other things,
For their grandkids and the delight to them it brings!
She reads and tells of family lore as they sit upon her lap.
When sleepy heads begin to nod, she rocks them for their nap!
Grandma's house is the place to gather for the holiday seasons.
Her hams, turkey and pumpkin pies are some of many reasons!
In each of her family members she takes so much delight,
Making each feel special - they are the apple of her sight!
Grandkids patiently teach her the mysteries of the computer.
She in turn dispenses counsel for living, as their special tutor.
Grandmas are always there to nurse bruised elbows and knees,
And to help young minds to perceive God, the stars and trees!
Grandmas are notorious for producing grandkids' photos in a trice!
Not once, but many times - really! one time would suffice!
God bless them for establishing solid family foundations,
For their boundless love and mentoring for ensuing generations!
Truth be told, Grandmas are just antique little girls!
(Tho' some may sport tinted blonde or even purple curls!)
Some even collect and coddle porcelain dolls I'm told.
I reckon that is fine if it keeps them from growing old!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
The first big family vacation, it was all so new
Mom found a dream ranch, a so-called “dude”
The kids were so young, a daughter not yet two
Our son only four, wanting to ride with the crew
Rafting, riding, and a real Mountain Man too,
This vacation was a hit - who knew?
As the years go by, we’ve made many friends
But over time this special week transcends
As families grow, things change
It can’t be helped, not really strange
Truth be told, our hearts aren’t ready
To agree on a change, on that we’re unsteady
Because memories are priceless, we’ll soon not forget
The ranch rodeos, Fat-Bat baseball games, and the brunch ride silhouette..
Of our annual family picture on a mountain out West,
Every year showing our kid’s growth, we are very blessed
It’s not with sadness that I write about when this might end
For it will surely open up a new door or trend
For as long as your heart, your family, and your thoughts don’t scatter
Where you go on vacation really doesn’t matter
Beach, mountains, wherever, one really shouldn’t mind
As long as you’re together, the time spent can be sublime
Oh, there are gripes, moans, and argument; it’s part of the quest
But I wouldn’t miss it, for who would have guessed
That in time as with all things, it too will naturally end
As children grow up and add their family blend
But If our good fortune continues we’ll be part of what’s next
In the knowledge that our time together is a gift not a test