Long Flesh out Poems
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Once upon a time I could change the oil and give the car a lube,
Tune the timing, change the plugs and patch an inner tube.
In days of yore I'd do simple jobs beneath the old elm tree.
Nowadays, I daren't twist a wrench without an engineer's degree!
In olden days things were simple to work on beneath the hood.
Stuff crammed under the hoods today is not at all understood!
Why! You must pull the doggone engine to fix a simple leak,
And everything is diagnosed by a smart-alecky computer geek!
Now I can't even locate the spark plugs, I must humbly confess,
And where the life-sustaining battery reposes is anybody's guess!
I must even contact the local garage to get the radiator filled.
'Tis plain to see that all is governed by the national mechanic's guild!
In simpler times the way to detect an errant rod and piston knock,
Was to put a screwdriver to your ear and listen through the block.
Nowadays, technicians lounge about with computers in their paws,
And in a trice can flesh out your automobile's ailing flaws!
Back then, I could replace brake linings and distributor caps,
Change a fan belt or replace a gasket or two perhaps.
But all these fancy gadgets are beyond me - I can't figure them out.
So I'll gnash my teeth and sit beneath the spreading elm and pout!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
I turn off damn ringer,
nonetheless...
telephone still buzzes
twenty four seven
eight days a week
automated telephone calls
digitally recorded message
perfectly spoken English
differentiation to distinguish
"FAKE" simulation
all bot impossible
totally immune to escape
gagging hospitable invective
electronic jawboning immunized
against antipathy, cruelty, enemy,
hostility, insecurity, pleasantry
Yukon run to tallest mountain
dive into Mariana Trench
get catapulted into
outer limits of twilight zone,
yet NEVER be free and clear
getting wirelessly zapped
with visual ad audiological
offal dregs and spam
oh... , yes even after life,
while weightlessly
pinwheeling in limbo,
particularly during eternal sleep,
when dead souls repose
six feet deep
or corpse undergoes cremation...
yepper, infiltration into atomic core
blithely battered, jimmied,
cherry lee pitted, tweaked,
worse fate than return of Zombies
electrical essential existential
incorporeal surreal auditory ordeal
spurs indiscriminate human
to relish golden silence
spawning best selling novel
to flesh out fiction
Utopian treasured island story
winning unknown author
instant acclaim and glory
describing village people
livingsocial, free and clear
without annoyingly,
egregiously, infuriatingly,
maddeningly, quaveringly
vexing, nauseating, disrupting
blitzkrieg courtesy aggravating
trumpeting autonomous programs
hijacking brainstorming concentration
thwarting aim tug get back on target
(even when carrying on camping)
sundering coalescence
regarding colonizing black screen
aborted doomed genesis
of brilliant fleeting idea,
thus one smart
generic garden variety
longfellow forced to
grovel along boulevard
of broken dreams.
Any resemblance between above
hyperbole and living persons
purely coincidental!
I hate robocalls!
I turn off damn ringer,
nonetheless...
telephone still buzzes
twenty four seven
eight days a week
automated telephone calls
digitally recorded message
perfectly spoken English
differentiation to distinguish
"FAKE" simulation
all bot impossible
totally immune to escape
gagging hospitable invective
electronic jawboning immunized
against antipathy, cruelty, enemy,
hostility, insecurity, pleasantry
Yukon run to tallest mountain
dive into Mariana Trench
get catapulted into
outer limits of twilight zone,
yet NEVER be free and clear
getting wirelessly zapped
with visual ad audiological
offal dregs and spam
oh... , yes even after life,
while weightlessly
pinwheeling in limbo,
particularly during eternal sleep,
when dead souls repose
six feet deep
or corpse undergoes cremation...
yepper, infiltration into atomic core
blithely battered, jimmied,
cherry lee pitted, tweaked,
worse fate than return of Zombies
electrical essential existential
incorporeal surreal auditory ordeal
spurs indiscriminate human
to relish golden silence
spawning best selling novel
to flesh out fiction
Utopian treasured island story
winning unknown author
instant acclaim and glory
describing village people
livingsocial, free and clear
without annoyingly,
egregiously, infuriatingly,
maddeningly, quaveringly
vexing, nauseating, disrupting
blitzkrieg courtesy aggravating
trumpeting autonomous programs
hijacking brainstorming concentration
thwarting aim tug get back on target
(even when carrying on camping)
sundering coalescence
regarding colonizing black screen
aborted doomed genesis
of brilliant fleeting idea,
thus one smart
generic garden variety
longfellow forced to
grovel along boulevard
of broken dreams.
Any resemblance between above
hyperbole and living persons
purely coincidental!
"The Eagle has landed”
Apollo 11 lunar module named “Eagle”
prediction defied naysayers ain't no boon
dog gull announced successful landing
while voice of Ole Blue eyes did croon
in Sea of Tranquility on moon
sometime about high noon
halting advancing armies
from one after another platoon
set down pontoon
bridges across the river Kwai (dune
axe why, the spatial event
July 20, 1969 witnessed great withered
figureheads regaled American dignitaries
even many an centenarian old prune,
plus lovely bones as skeletal rune
none other than remains formerly
Robert Hutchings Goddard exhumed
subsequently astronaut Neil Armstrong
uttered "That's one small step for man,
one giant leap for mankind,"
though skeptics good n plenti
claimed hue moon phase
would never become crater!
Three astronauts gravitated,
celebrated accomplished fete
instrumental proffering accolades
glock o' spiel trumpeted didgeridoo
courtesy King of rock and Queen
arduous encapsulated endeavor
spurred ravenous appetite
they got the moon cheese
lunar than later nibbled moonpie
washed down with spot of tea.
Heroes welcome greeted
podcast linkedin crew
upon their successful
accomplished impossible mission
returned to umble Earth
bootlegged moonshine stowed
within light saddle
sore ring hearts skipped beat
felt over the moon,
nonetheless by George underwent
thoroughly good medical examination
afflicted with minor malady,
not deemed more serious
than cardiovascular lunar tick.
Fast forward Fifty Earth orbitz chock
full of journeys light years distant pock
marked little uninhabited rock
quite quaint outer limits mostly schlock
of twilight zone by Spock,
he of Starship Enterprise.
No hint what prospects doth lie ahead
for future generations, centuries after
present madding crowd long since dead
yes, the space travel science fiction
authors flesh out today
will arrive within blink, whereby
fantasy with reality will wed.
Excise Exercise 1.
Today is the Day she prints out her poems-
a careful first time collation of black and white,
and every color to be seen, in between.
Her Heart clings to words of lost love. And hope.
Which scores are true keepers of internal Self?
In your face front page realities?
Or surreal back page fantasies?
Lies and faith in truth flesh out
skeletal details of a Homeless Heart
living below life on bye-bye ways. And high hi ways.
Out in the open. Vulnerable. Exposed.
Free to go. Free to disappear.
Free to reappear in any frame of mind
between cover, uncover, and undercover.
Finally getting lost...
To be fully found out.
Aqua Marine Pen Umbra Poetry.
26 January, 2024.
I had been working on the concept of "Penumbra" Poetry for a while. Penumbra is a term used to describe the coulour that blends light and shadow to give dimension. Human behavior is often judged "black and white", without adding discernment to deepen understanding. I deeply value those who express deep discernment, fellow feeling, and an acknowledgment of uniqueness, expressed in the creative Poetic minds, old and new, who come here. Thank you to those who read my poems. It is enough to be "seen and heard."
With Faith, Hope, Love. (And the greatest of these is Love.)
I thought my secret was safe in the closet
In scads of pads neatly stacked on a shelf,
But when my muse said it's time
To post my rhymes online
Was the day that I "outed" myself.
I'm not what you'd call a great thinker,
My profundity's barely skin deep.
I'd love to be one of those
Who paints pictures with prose
And writes books people buy, read, and keep.
But it's too hard to flesh out a plot line
And keep it moving from cover to cover.
First you push, shove, and fold it,
And polish, and mold it,
Then often toss it all out and start over.
Writing verse is a less stressful pleasure,
Mine's often witty and gay.
Is each poem I write a rare treasure?
Will I gain wealth and fame beyond measure?
No, it's not, and I won't, and I know it.
Some things are not done for the pay.
Time will tell if I merit the label of "poet",
But I'll keep scribbling my rhymes, anyway.
Though my muse does her best to inspire me
To keep writing and vendor my stuff,
This is poetry, nobody needs it,
But if now and then somebody reads it,
I think that will be glory enough.
Now my secret is out in the open,
I can neither refute it nor rue it.
So I'm confessing it out loud,
Yes! I'm a poet, it's avowed,
And I'm proud that my muse made me do it.
A love story in iambic tetrameter.
Don't be afraid, please have some guts,
write a poem 'bout coconuts.
Though they are big, round, and hairy
they're not so bad, not so scary.
The water's healthy, keeps you well,
just gotta suck it out the shell.
Go have a party, celebrate,
then use one to set up a date.
Send a long drink to a fella,
with a sparkler and umbrella.
Watch him sip nectar through that straw,
lovers, not friends, strangers no more.
Use the meat to make a curry
a tasty dish made in a hurry;
shrimp, or mutton, or fish or goat
so, so, good, it'll float his boat.
In fact, prepare it for your date
the perfect dish, he'll think you're great.
He knows for him you'll go through hell
to get the flesh out of the shell.
Your food's not dull, no spaghetti,
open nuts with your machete.
Don't even have to make a move
your intense love for him to prove.
Pretty quickly, no ifs, no buts,
he'll propose. He loves coconuts!
Father forgive us for being forlorn and falling
Father forbid us for continuing in our fractured and failing faith
Father forgive us for being on a Pharisaical frequency, our felonistic fealty
Father be firm in fermenting the old form and forming the new form
Father help us from faith to sight, to stand still and from fumbling and flight
Father thaw the frozen chosen, free the former and ford with the free
Forgive us all for forgetting to forgive family, friends and frisky foes
Father fence in the fiendish of all foes, frown at our flash and Flemish giant holes we fancy
Father forgive the frantic and fatalistic fray, pray tell Father don't falter
Freed from our sins by Jesus our Friend, Founder and Forever Fiddly
Father under Your feathers we can fly freely over the frame of Your fields
Father freeze our fleeting feet, flesh out the futility of fake fossil flack
Father fix our philosophies and our philandering, our fantastic fudging of facts
Father finally [and again] forgive us our frequent fallacies of faltering finitude
I
To all you wannabe poets,
Here's a word of advice ere you start:
If you want folks to love it,
Keep your ego out of it,
When you write always write from the heart.
II
It's great fun to write haiku and sonnets
About rainbows and gay Easter bonnets,
But if you find them too terse,
You can flesh out your verse,
And festoon it with quatrains and nonets.
III
Poets come, and poets go, and poets coincide.
Some rhyme time and time again, others "free verse" with pride.
But those who let their egos reign
Oft fade and never scribe again.
They succumb to the literary sin of authorcide.
IV
Writing is for me both pain and pleasure,
The time I spend with pad and pen I treasure.
I must confess, though,
Sometimes I stress so,
When syllables I choose to use refuse to measure.
I hate robocalls!
Inxs of recorded messages
transmitted automatically
to my telephone number
by automatic dialing device.
I turn off damn ringer,
and disassemble (carefully
as disabling a time bomb)
internal workings nevertheless...
telephone still buzzes
twenty four seven
eight days a week
automated telephone calls
digitally recorded message
perfectly spoken English
differentiation to distinguish
"FAKE" simulation
all bot impossible
totally immune to escape
gagging hospitable invective
electronic jawboning immunized
against antipathy, cruelty, enemy,
hostility, insecurity, pleasantry
Yukon run to tallest mountain
dive into Mariana Trench
get catapulted into
outer limits of twilight zone,
yet NEVER be free and clear
getting wirelessly zapped
with visual ad audiological
offal dregs and spam
(minus the green eggs)
oh... yes even after life,
while weightlessly
pinwheeling in limbo,
particularly during eternal sleep,
when dead souls repose
six feet deep
or corpse undergoes cremation...
yepper, infiltration into atomic core
blithely battered, jimmied,
cherry lee pitted, tweaked,
worse fate than return of Zombies
electrical essential existential
incorporeal surreal auditory ordeal
spurs indiscriminate human
to relish golden silence
spawning best selling novel
to flesh out fiction
Utopian treasured island story
winning unknown author
instant acclaim and glory
describing village people
livingsocial, free and clear
without annoyingly,
egregiously, infuriatingly,
maddeningly, quaveringly
vexing, nauseating, disrupting
blitzkrieg courtesy aggravating
trumpeting autonomous programs
hijacking brainstorming concentration
thwarting aim tug get back on target
(even when carrying on camping)
sundering coalescence
regarding colonizing black screen
aborted doomed genesis
of brilliant fleeting idea,
contributes to conspiracy theory
linkedin with ghost calls
thus one smart
generic garden variety
longfellow forced to
grovel along boulevard
of broken dreams
on a green day.
Any resemblance between above
hyperbole and living person
asked courteously by his name
of the human league,
I police tell the caller
purely coincidental!