Long Haughty Poems
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October 25th, 2020
Belgium All Star Festival
Variety of languages are being spoken
Church of Our Lady of Laeken smiles as she sees them gather
Across from her boats are being decorated for the festivities
We have the best festivals in the world, she thinks
Grand Palace would disagree.
She was haughty, and stuck up, thinking her festival was the top of the mark.
Flower Carpet Festival was fine but not held yearly, so Lady of Laeken discounted it.
We also have the Belgian Pride Festival every May, the bakery down the street
mentioned to her, so she knew she had been think aloud.
It was a fantastic festival too and well attended.
At least we do not live in Ypres the two landmarks said to each other, laughing.
That is where Festival of the Cats is held, honoring gruesome stories of throwing cats.
Church of Our Lady of Laeken felt sorry for her cousin St. Peter’s, for he lived in Ypres.
It was something he had to endure every year.
Hubris and centrism are forever hook and mitt
A myriad of players does seemingly afflict
Resenting green eyes now focusing in
Rocks tangled with glass and taken square on the chin
Petulant stance, the recreants cry
Transitorily deuced with an inquisitive why
Posturing accepted, a haughty delivery in the night
Furtive and devious, and not very bright
Mystified clearly, network disrupted
Vista on essence, simply corrupted
Spiteful in pattern, indifferent and rude
Coercion les enlist, poultry and crude
Yeah lesson concluded and left to reflect
Degree obtained, autonomic architect
Every posterior, leered and showcased for thee
Closing of view and this third degree
There's a quaint little eatery in old Colorado City.
It you ain't never et there, dear me, what a pity!
It's crowded an' hectic but here's the scoop:
There ain't nothin' like their French onion soup!
It ain't a fancy place, jes' a few tables an' bow-back chairs,
But it attracts all sorts uv folks, even some millionaires!
They're a discriminatin' bunch - them you'll never dupe.
They'd scale Pikes Peak fer a bowl of that French onion soup!
The tables are rickety an' the old wood floor squeaks.
On its brick walls hang innumerable ersatz antiques.
Orders are placed over the din with a bellowing whoop:
"Hey, mister! Gimme a bowl uv yer French onion soup!"
Ever' spoonful I eagerly gulp, but much to my chagrin,
Stringy cheese dangles frum my spoon, fallin' on my chin!
But what care I as frum my chin it doth droop,
I'll jes' keep on slurpin' that good ol' French onion soup!
I've dined in five-star restaurants all about this sphere,
With haughty waiters, pompous chefs an' elegant atmosphere.
But I'll tip my fedora to this diligent little troop,
'Specially to the feller who brews the French onion soup!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Distressing Calls of Discontent
Distressing calls of discontent frowning upon my brow
Convalescing with the fall of a malcontent who was too haughty and proud
Coalescing in forms of consequence that are meant to be spoken out loud
Blessing the tall deliverance of being alone among the crowd
Interjections of circumspections for those crossing the civil lines
Mass contentions of introspection as we search for the divine
Condescensions from such pretension that it stupefies the mind
Predilections of inventions that are formed from those who actively look for what they find
Revolution from inside the homes of those who cant afford to pay their rent
Evolution of a Darwinian theory that Creationism circumvents
Convolution of a weary postulation that’s going around inside my head
Pollution of a planet that refuses to create a carbon dent
Microscopic elements under review for replication
Biopic relevance of a relative who is patiently genetically awaiting
Some myopic recognition of the claims that they are steaking
While I’m off the topic I’m still reeling from the borders that I’m breaking
Incandescent reflections that imbibe a lucid dream
Convalescent infections that permeate a populace to scream
Illuminesent interjections of light from the purity of a single sunbeam
Reminiscent of collections that are above the creation of a common theme
Musing always soothing my mind while ceasing the debate
Grooving all the time while I try to syncopate
Perusing all these ethical crimes that make one want to incubate
While using the refine to give and remain hesitant to take
Ammunition for another war that transcends national borderlines
Intuition used only for the expansion of mankind
Premonitions that abhor everything but the expansion of the mind
Nightly visions that store it all across the passages of time
The End
Electorate on tenterhooks until...
outcome of 2020 presidential election announced
Polling places slated to open seven o'clock
in the morning November third two thousand twenty
heightened tensions will strain patience
to breaking point concerning
extreme anticipation common joe experiences
(biden his/her time)
regarding which candidate trumpeted
as de facto commander in chief of United States.
Carpe diem the echoing refrain
heard and seen dispensed and broadcast
across telecommunications medium
cuz the very survival of democracy at stake
ruthless political machinations employed
to seize inalienable codified rights
couched within Declaration of Independence
and Constitution, written ethos, dogma, credo...
compiling aggregate of fundamental principles
or established precedents that constitute
legal basis of a polity, organisation
or other type of entity and commonly
determine how entity governed.
Understanding North American government
inextricably found yours truly agape
when chance occurrence brought hefty tome
into self assigned reading material
which storied author David McCullough
wrote engrossing John Adams biography
I read aloud with measured deliberateness
clearly enunciating each syllable of every word
despite runaway enthusiasm
to acquire historical premise
whereby original thirteen colonies
teetered on brink of immediate collapse
soon after majority representatives
swore fealty among themselves
despite ragtag soldiers
easily overwhelmed courtesy
fighting force of British Empire.
As a staunch affiliate of democratic party,
one veritable common joe
just biding his time,
I trumpet how crass
deleterious, egregious, fractious...
usurpation of power
jackknifed, kickstarted and linked
endemic flood (gushing) hatred
malicious, nefarious, opprobrious putrescence
laid down at the feet
upholding seventy five inches
of corpulent doughy flesh
regarding one conceited, haughty, and obstreperous
politician orchestrating machiavellian leitmotif.
Mark my words, that bull headed incumbent
will clamor, foment, incite, loose chaos
if Democratic candidate garners more votes
at the ballot box nsync with absentee citizens
casting their lot with the worser of two evils
otherwise put head between legs,
and kiss tuckus goodbye,
cuz hell in a handbasket looms on horizon.
A devastating fire, an incendiary flame.
heartless heat dissolves the skin of the innocent.
Thick smoke enshrouds the burning performance.
She cannot help but to feed the beast.
To give in to the power of its haughty remarks.
She cannot flee the scene.
All exits aflame, she must take the blame.
She has not caused a scene, she has not raised her voice.
She doesn't know why, but she has no choice
But to knock herself down, put her heart in a box
The flames surround her, inching near
She has practiced for years to hide her fears
Turn mental anguish into just a bad day
Fire encroaches upon her, she tries to fight back
But mostly she listens
The crackling almost sounds like a monologue
Paragraphs begin to burn her skin
She inhales hatred and lies
Unable to breathe as she in engulfed
It burns her chest and comes upon a glass box
It is no match, stronger than her will to extinguish words with maturity
maybe she could have seen the fire coming
Developed a steel heart, but she was too late
She is weak, on the ground, close to giving up
She begins to believe that she started the fire
Maybe she held a match to friendship
Torturing the ones she loved the most
Maybe she cracked a window
Opening the gates of conversation
She was defeated, words beginning to bruise her body
Sticks and stones may break her bones, but words will always hurt her.
She can only see destruction, noticing that everyone has gotten to safety
She is left alone with only flames to calm her nerves.
Although her heart is burnt beyond repair
She still searches for a reason, what actually started the fire
It seems she will never have an answer
Hear Ye, Hear Ye!
"Now best you be impressed with my imagery,"
the haughty poet murmured to me.
Alas, dear poet, that I cannot do.
The grief in this world is not addressed enough in
poetry!
And, I further communicated, that swinging on stars
and smelling fragrant trees, just won't cut it for me.
He was so irate, he broke his quill!
Such a petulant poet, imprisoned in his own will.
The world crumbling, with a God, no more.
He dropped me on his follow list, which I adored!
I have run across poets here, not very popular,
You can't detect them on a screen that is Doppler.
Their poetry sings of things that utterly move me!
Significant matters that do affect thee.
These poet gems are not on any Best Lists!
However, when I read their poetry, they make
Both my soul and my heart, truly mist!
August 27, 2019
10am PST
August 6 Heart for God Bible Meditations Based on Isaiah 42-44
Key Verse – Isaiah 42:8 I am the LORD: that is my name: and my glory will I not give to another, neither my praise to graven images.
HEART THAT ACKNOWLEDGES THE LORD AND HIS GLORY
Our heart acknowledges the Lord and His glory despite our misery
When we are lonely, being pitiful and solitary
Feeling sorry as if enclosed around unbelief-treachery---
Here we are, seeking for His love, full of victory.
Our heart acknowledges the Lord and His glory despite our affliction
When we are weak, murmuring over dissatisfaction
Feeling sick in battling against worldliness-temptation---
Here we are, begging for His help and direction.
Our heart acknowledges the Lord and His glory despite our bitterness
When we are envious, magnifying scarcity’s emptiness
Feeling jealous about others’ resources’ bountifulness---
Here we are, trusting His provisions of ready supply-goodness.
Our heart acknowledges the Lord and His glory despite our discontentment
When we are frustrated, losing heavenly excitement
Feeling worthless in wallowing into vanity-predicament---
Here we are, reaching out to His kindness’ fulfillment.
Our heart acknowledges the Lord and His glory despite our insecurity
When we are fearful, trembling at faith-advancement opportunity
Feeling unable in moving forward, upward beyond any adversity---
Here we are, depending on His strength’s great stability.
Our heart acknowledges the Lord and His glory despite our arrogance
When we are haughty, pursuing over earthly fame and abundance
Feeling self-sufficient in our accomplishment-driven endurance---
Here we are, surrendering to His majesty of divine elegance and extravagance.
Our heart acknowledges the Lord and His glory despite our distresses
When we are dismayed, sinking deep into lamentation that oppresses
Feeling depressed in succumbing to discouraging discourses---
Here we are, praising His name for forgiving our offenses.
August 6, 2026
July 17 Scripture Meditations Based on Isaiah 19-23
Key Verse – Isaiah 23:11 He stretched out his hand over the sea, he shook the kingdoms: the LORD hath given a commandment against the merchant city, to destroy the strong holds thereof.
MY GOD, THANK YOU FOR STRETCHING OUT YOUR HAND OVER ME
Thank You for stretching out Your hand over me and my self-righteousness
With Your salvation’s holiness
That covers my confessed sinfulness by Your forgiveness…
I give myself to Your heart-sanctifying pureness.
Thank You for stretching out Your hand over me and my self-pity
With Your mercy’s bounty
That enhances my spiritual beauty…
I entrust myself to Your soul-valuing verity.
Thank You for stretching out Your hand over me and my self-interest
With Your plan’s best
That vanquishes my esteemed pride pest…
I surrender myself to Your ambition-checking test.
Thank You for stretching out Your hand over me and my self-indulgence
With Your control’s prevalence
That subdues my complaining persistence…
I submit myself to Your faith-upholding permanence.
Thank You for stretching out Your hand over me and my self-fulfillment
With Your leadership’s engagement
That rebukes my worldly enjoyment…
I offer myself to Your sacrifice-approving bestowment.
Thank You for stretching out Your hand over me and my self-sufficiency
With Your clemency’s excellency
That halts my materialistic tendency…
I bring myself to Your contentment-satisfying constancy.
Thank You for stretching out Your hand over me and my self-exaltation
With Your humility’s function
That breaks my haughty disposition…
I yield myself to Your life-transforming perfection.
Modest woman moderate woman
Your inner beauty strikes me
Like the tongue of noble eloquence
More than gold even refined gold
Or our purged fulgent silver.
Black woman proud woman
Your pride is not haughty
But a humble pride of eaglets;
Your black eyes are so glittering
As the eyes of our dark rivers
Filled with messages of peace
That banish the broody turmoil
From those panting hearts
Of your foreigned offsprings.
Gentle mother diligent mother
Your kindness kindles the fires
Of my heart –
Your dexterity dresses
The table of our ageless history
And the thought of your being
– Oh kind mother! –
Makes the most delicious menu
For my heart.
I remember your naked feet
Fast and fair as a pigeon’s limbs
Treading the invisible paths
Almost covered by shrubs
Small shrubs misted by the prime mist.
I remember the wood from the wood
The water from the water
And manifold items from jungle alleys
Borne by your delicate hands
And upon your soft black-haired head.
I remember the constant match
To markets and to farms
And your bright face smeared with
The ash dust
Making you more beautiful
Than any woman whose feet
Ever touched the naked earth.
I remember those burdens
Upon your cheerful kin-souls
And babies strapped to your backs
Babes full of unspoken words
To unborn others in patient wombs
Waiting in an endless turn –
Indeed, mother is dove!
A black dove and a dark huntress
A hunter’s gift from the maker?
Mother is like a weaver-bird
Building a big foot-like nest
Filled with corn and warmth
A bundle of eagle-flight
Mother is dove
And the hunter calls her
The clan’s eternal dove.
Oh, mother loving woman
Gentle as our black horizon
To you we humbly come
From these far and lonely lands
Hoping to grace our love and beauty
Before that jealous grave
Makes her temporary feast.