Long Heavier Poems
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Some nights feel heavier than they should,
like the air itself is leaning on your shoulders,
waiting to see if you’ll bend or break.
But you don’t.
You breathe through it, even when it stings.
You stay, even when the quiet gets too loud.
You keep a small flame going
in a room that forgot how to hold light.
There’s a kind of courage in that
the quiet kind, the kind no one claps for,
the kind that looks like simply existing
when everything inside you wants to disappear.
You’re not okay,
but you’re here.
And that means something.
It means tomorrow still has a chance
to be softer than today.
If this reached you, feel free to share it with someone who might need it.
Simple were the things that brought me so much joy,
Growin' up on the farm as a Hoosier country boy!
Barefoot, straw hat, patched overalls and summer tanned,
As free as a soarin' eagle as I roamed that prairie land!
Dad farmed the old homestead with teams of horses and mules.
He had a Massey-Harris tractor he used to tow heavier tools.
But to turn the sod he used his mules, old faithful Fred and Joe,
Who understood Dad's subtle commands of "gee, haw and whoa!"
He sat upon the brutal steel seat of his John Deere sulky plow,
Turnin' ten acres of soil a day, and now I wonder how!
Ah, what a pleasure to trot in that cool, fresh-turned furrow,
And wiggle my toes in the loam the shiny moldboard would burrow!
My old pal, Spooks, bounded hither and yon a-chasin' rabbits,
Of which there was a multitude, due to their promiscuous habits!
As the sulky plow turned the soil, I'd poke around with a stick,
To collect wiggly worms for feeshin' later in the ripplin' "crick".
Anon, Fred and Joe and the sulky plow were all retired,
Replaced by a Farmall tractor, shiny red and rubber tired.
Dad reluctantly gave up his sulky plow and bid it a sad adieu.
Alas, it was conscripted for scrap to aid in World War Two!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
How well I knew him, Peter.
Friend from childhood, he came over from time to time;
Entertained my children far better than I could myself.
They loved to see him, pined for his wild laugh
In the gaps between his visits.
I'd known him since Kindergarten,
Then as somewhat still a goldenhaired Forever Boy
Whose ice blue eyes always seemed to be looking
Off into some babe-fresh world nobody else could see.
After the children crashed to bed
Worn to exhaustion from excess of joy
We'd sit and trade lies, pretending
It's Never Too Late, Lots of Time Yet to Grow Up
Ignoring the steady disappearance of those golden locks
My own shining silver.
He's somehow eluded the adulthood that claims us all,
Yet knows at heart how it steals upon him yet,
A little closer year by year
The relentless tread of time,
The turning of our little earth.
A favorite friend became
A strange fear that grew and grew,
As every day the kids grew a little heavier to remind me
That maybe sometime soon the last Lost Boy
Might fly to my door one last time
On a carrion wind
To stand there, all out of Happy Thoughts
To beg me to take him in.
You'd be wrong to assume it just affects only male
And even more wrong to overlook women's plight
Cause just like men, they too experience it
It's just sad that they'd been left behind
Maybe because it kinda feels like the usual periods
Just a little heavier, going on for more days
And for most women, they go undiagnosed
Cause they're just considered different
Maybe because they just bleed more after childbirth
When bringing forth life can mean life and death
Cause when undiagnosed, it would make people spiral
As they wrack their brains on what's happening
Maybe because all we've known are the boys
That seems to go through more episodes
And the focus had always been on them
And it was already taking a toll just managing them
You'd be wrong to assume it just affects the male
Cause I've clearly seen how women suffer too
And they suffer more in silence
That's why this year we are highlighting their plight
The PO£T
Pray,
If Existing requires it that we suffer,
That we gain not that which we seek,
That the lump on our heart keeps getting heavier,
Have you ever wondered
If it might be simply because
The Power who created us
Might be suffering as well?
Maybe It suffers for reasons known to itself,
Maybe It be an artist who cannot find its meaning
In a vast and puzzling cosmos
Maybe It cannot find the purity that It seeks
From those life forms It has created
Maybe in Its heart, the melody of agony keeps playing
Submerging It in tears, being reflected as the billions
Of stars which we, with our human eyes, enjoy
On dark and lonely nights!
Maybe that's why,
It has delivered to us, books of holiness
Announcing thereby that those who shall love It
Genuinely shall be allowed grace and mercy
As to be given a better opportunity at Existing!
Why, I wish
I could decipher the meaning of this Power
If not,
At least have the means
To rewire my switches
As to make sure
I suffer no more
From the harshness given back to me
When I simply seek to love
With mystical willed intentions!
Pray,
The story of my life,
Would be one written with the blood
Dripping from my heart
Pricked and cut by the harshness of the pain
With which I suffer
As
If the Power that brought me forth
Itself suffers,
Then,
Harmonizing my pain with Its own
Would most probably be that which It seeks!
Part of my family went pick'n blueberries
Kaizley only 18 months old picked quite a few
She was a pound heavier when she left the bush
Taking care of the lower limbs, she came away blue
Karter was busy reaching in the middle
A handful in his mouth, he was quite subtle
Then a handful in his bag, as swift as a fly
I could say that even he guttled
Phyllis several feet taller reached into the top
She loved to get the rabbit eye kind
And in her mouth they'd pop
A few handfuls in her bag so berries reclined
Long she will remember her day at mom's
She can tell her grandchild about blueberry bushes
Life on the farm and how it sometimes isn't easy
But picking those blueberries is fun and also hiding in the rushes
Testing each other's faith
At an open window—the air is still,
People seem dead with indifference,
And yet—the world breathes heavier
Hearts thumping in rhythm
To each other,
Hands clasping so tightly,
The view at large is a future we fear
Honor is seen in companionship,
Yet disgust is seen in those
Who live in solitude—choosing
Peace over miserable compromise
We promise to protect our loved ones,
Yet we fail to make promises
To preserve and encourage
Ourselves!
2.21.20
Note:"We are torn apart and yet we are alive...in the New Golden Age..." - Keane, New Golden Age
Weak Spots is taking a little turn. I feel that we romanticize union so much, yet we fail to give honor and acknowledgement to those who carry their lives without companionship. There is beauty and peace in a solitary life. There is deep love and strength in a single life apart from another.
What do you think of this?
~Laura
In the heat of the Mohave desert
Drumming echoes build
In unison to my heart
Pumping and pounding
Faraway chants introduced
In some unknown native tongue
Rhythmic and nostalgic
They draw ever closer
As I close my eyes
Inviting my soul to manifest
Freeing it into tall billowing swirls
In the largest of overhead circles
So ethereal and surreal
That bold drumming resonates
Picking up the beat
Heavier and intense
Pumping and pounding
Pounding and pumping
Pumping and pounding
Pulsating fiercely through me
Transporting me to the other realm
Meshing with the paranormal
Mesmerized and entranced
Awakening old secrets trapped
In parallel dimensions
One second
The sudden silence
Plonks me like a lifeless puppet
Free falling to fathomless depths
The next
My body goes into convulsions
Quivering and shaking
An obscure dam bursting with torrential tears
From I know not where
A baffling source of unspeakable grief
Inconsolable anguish
Throwing me into utter bewilderment
Imagining how I may have been transported
By some mystical sorcery induced by
That powerful drumming and warrior chant
Awakening the deep painful haunting despair
Of a throbbing wound
Unhealed through multiple lifetimes
What could I have possibly endured
If not the broken heart
Of a grieving wife and mother
Suffering the unbearable loss
Simultaneous of both
Warrior husband and warrior son
Read on air by invitation ~ February 19, 2021 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP: 2nd place 2021
Submitted for contest EMOTIONAL ANGER, HURT, RAGE sponsored by LEWIS RAYNES - November 26, 2017 - RANKED 3RD
It’s been a hard road, and the burden’s piled high
Dreams painted on the asphalt beneath the endless sky
I know where I wanna be, got the fire in my chest
But the toll it takes on me, weighs heavier than the rest.
But I’m trying, yeah I’m fighting through the pain
Though I feel like dying, I keep dancing in the rain
I’ve been knocked down, but I’ll rise back up
It’s been a hard road, but I’ll fill my cup
I’ve been cheated on, yeah, I’ve been done wrong
But I’ll sing my truth, with my warrior song!
I’ve fought back when I’m drained, when my vision’s gone dim
Worked hard through the strain, with faith on a whim
Don’t count me out yet, I'm still in this game
You can place your losing bet—I'll still rise through the flame.
I ain't done trying, even though I feel so low
Yeah, I’m still climbing, my spirit won’t let go
I’ve been knocked down, but I’ll rise back up
It’s been a hard road, but I’ll fill my cup
I’ve been cheated on, yeah, I’ve been done wrong
But I’ll sing my truth, with my warrior song!
This pain has made me strong, crafting steel from all the fire
With every scar I bear, I’ll lift my voice, my desire
Determined to make it through, I feel the win is near
This heart of mine’s resilient, it won’t drown in the fear.
Yeah, this is my song, no matter where I roam
Yeh I’m a fighter, always finding my way home
Yeh, I aint done trying, though I’ve been torn apart
It’s been a hard road, but I’ve got grit in my heart.
I’ve been knocked down, but I’ll rise back up
It’s been a hard road, but I’ll fill my cup
I’ve been cheated on, yeah, I’ve been done wrong
But I’ll sing my truth, with my warrior song!
Yeah, you can’t keep a good warrior down
If you’ve crossed her, you’d best leave town.
some days feel heavier
than I ever admit out loud
and I wake already tired
before the morning has even settled
but there’s a part of me
that keeps going anyway
a small, stubborn spark
that refuses to go out
I’ve walked through things
that could have stopped me
yet here I am
still standing
still trying
still choosing to move forward
and I need to hear this clearly
from myself
to myself
I’m not stepping back
I’m not losing heart
I’m not letting the hard days
decide who I am
I’m not giving up on me
not now
not ever
because I deserve a life
that feels like living
not just getting through
and I’m already
on my way there