Long Howe Poems
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To know just where your're going
You must know where you've been
You must respect the history
The things others have seen
It's true in all things relative
Be it music, sports or life
If you don't know where you came from
You're just dancing on a knife
Gherig, Ruth and Robinson
May, and Mantle, Seaver too
Respect their contributions
And don't just say Ruth who?
Respect where things have come from
And the players of the past
Because you learn and make things better
It's what makes the damn game last
Jimmy Foxx, Bob Gibson, Kaline
Nestor Chylak and The Goose
They made baseball special
They gave the game a little juice
Orr, Richard and Gretzky
Gordie Howe and Howie Morenz
You have to know about them
You need the beginning to your ends
Bob Baun and Bill Barilko
Connie Smythe and yeah...the Chief
You have to know their history
They're what it is to be a Leaf
The game has changed immensely
Things can not go back in time
But to me...the old alumni
Made the game I know as mine
Respect the ones before you
The ones who laid the groundwork down
The ones who made it special
The non-pretenders to the crown
Elvis, Buddy, Harrison
Played the songs inside their heart
Lennon, Wilson and the rest
They all played a real big part
Every single generation
should learn from the one before
For if they don't know where they've come from
Then what has it all been for?
Nicklaus, Palmer, Bobby Jones
Sarazen and Hogan too
They pushed the gameright to it's limits
Now the pressure's upon you
The new breed are the teachers now
They're the ones to lead the way
When twenty or so years from now
You'll hear somebody say
"Respect who came before you
The ones who made us so damn proud
LIke Nash and , Perry and Taylor Hall
They played the game so loud
Pudge, Jeter, and Verlander
they brought it up a notch
They were there to stretch the limits
Not to just sit by and watch
Rory, Justin Rose and Mahan
Bubba, Dustin and the rest
They are the players of the future
They all respected the games best
So, to know where you are going
You must know where you have been
Respect, past through the future
And all that's happened in between.
You know that summertime is gone
when a chill is in the air
when snow is in the forecast
and hockey sticks appear
when kids with toques and earmuffs
show up on every street
stick-handling wayward tennis balls
on tar and on concrete
when flags of northern nations
unfurl on jacket backs
with favored players featured
on shirts and on backpacks.
In Canada we’re hockey nuts
we cannot get enough.
The only time it’s out of thought
is when the sledding’s tough.
It’s hockey, hockey, hockey, for nine months of the year
from Long Beach to the Grand Banks, Point Pelee to Ellesmere.
In this the blooming of the North, this land that we hold dear,
There’s talk of other sports at times but it’s hockey we revere.
The stars, the stats, the standings,
team trades and injuries
consume us all the season
and test our expertise.
In cubicles and staff rooms
at desks and boardrooms too
the talk is all of hockey pools
and who is picking who –
Russian or Canadian
American or Czech
Swede or Ukrainian
Finn, German or Slovack.
In Canada we’re hockey nuts
we cannot get enough.
The only time it’s out of thought
is when the sledding’s tough.
It’s hockey, hockey, hockey, for nine months of the year
from Long Beach to the Grand Banks, Point Pelee to Ellesmere.
In this the blooming of the North, this land that we hold dear,
There’s talk of other sports at times but it’s hockey we revere.
And when we’re old with fires banked
and we forget most else
we’ll hanker back to storied games
and golden stars whose very names
excite our feebled pulse:
Hull, Lemieux and Richard
Beliveau and Fuhr
Orr and Howe and Harvey
Gretzky and Lafleur
We'll hear again the rising roar
And then the call
He shoots, he scores.
In Canada we’re hockey nuts
we cannot get enough.
The only time it’s out of thought
is when the sledding’s tough.
It’s hockey, hockey, hockey, for nine months of the year
from Long Beach to the Grand Banks, Point Pelee to Ellesmere.
In this the blooming of the North, this land that we hold dear,
There’s talk of other sports at times but it’s hockey we revere.
Duncan was a young British soldier,
new recruit at fifteen years of age,
a good lad who followed his orders,
he was a fifer who liked to play,
his tunes directed men in the field,
the Blackwatch soldiers who didn’t yield,
deployed in 1758
to America, to wilds great.
Sent to take the fight there to the French,
in New York’s rugged northern mountains,
from long Lake George the march would begin,
a desire for vengeance to quench,
after what happened the year before
at William Henry, the blood and gore…
Abercrombie was put in command,
but left many duties to George Howe,
a young officer, and steadfast man,
lots of leeway to chap was allowed.
So out would row 18, 000 men,
excited Duncan plunked amongst them,
largest force seen on Yankee shores,
compared to the French, near five times more.
All of the men’s spirits running high,
highlanders, militia, native scouts,
the outcome didn’t seem much in doubt
when the lake’s northern end they espied,
the French had all fled that patch of earth,
Howe’s forward columns got to their work.
Duncan was not part of this advance,
his unit was unloading behind,
ahead Howe encountered men from France
trying to retreat behind their lines.
Loud gunshots echoed back through the woods,
young Duncan, then, did not feel so good,
went about unloading with frayed nerves,
after some hours, then men returned.
They spoke of a skirmish amongst trees,
how the noble Lord Howe was shot dead
in the fighting, before the French fled,
after suffering casualties.
Now Abercrombie alone took charge,
which didn’t help to lift people’s hearts.
The next day Colonel John Bradstreet went
with men to reconnoiter the scene,
up Rattlesnake hill his troop was sent,
saw the fort, information was gleaned;
Fort Carillon looked in bad repair,
and they could see no forward lines there,
with a charge they thought the French would break,
but they didn’t see their great mistake:
Trees and shrubs shielded breastworks from view,
and branches formed into abatis,
through which no marching line could persist,
none of these things Abercrombie knew,
and fearing reinforcements in time,
he chose to strike, left big guns behind.
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Thank you mother,
you birthed me,
you nursed me,
you fed and clothed me.
You loved me,
when seems, the word had loathed me.
I'd not want that love in vain.
However this is not your day.
Thank you mother,
for your support,
and your optimistic sheen,
it's inspiring
and always has shaped the person whom I am.
But this is not your day.
It belongs to the greeting card companies.
Who've robbed another holiday.
Robbed it of all meaning,
all substance and heart.
Robbed it of it's very soul.
Deformed it,
corrupted it,
chewed it up and spat it,
till it's obscure meanings long forgot;
faded into history, a mother's not.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Dedicated to my mother, whom I love.
Also dedicated to Julia Ward Howe who invented a holiday meant to end war and poverty. And to
celebrate all families. Who died before her dream could ever be realized.
And...to Anne Jarvis who forced through the holiday, hoping to continue Howe's work and end war
and poverty and create a better world for all, only to see that dream shattered as Greeting Card
companies and greedy conglomerates perverted it's ideals to nothing more then lip service
dedicated to selling cards and candy.
To celebrate some mother's publicly, while other's have their health care raised and their social
security stolen. While single mothers have to risk their health and their lives to barely feed their
children.
This holiday is an abomination. It doesn't celebrate motherhood, it degrades it. Women don't need
to be celebrated nearly as much as they need a good world in which they can better raise their
children. A world in which they can feed their children. This holiday is a Mother's Not and so is this
world.
Form:
ELocution
ELocution
Diction ENglish grammer proper nouns predicates verbs learn the way the language
works then grow up to be a poet and throw it all away today to make new words to
make poems bleed to make the rhymes the prose doth need. Shakespeare is an
affluance. He rubbed off some on my purple prose. O God! how wonderful are Thy
works! Thou makest the rotting log to nourish banks of violets, and from the
stagnant pool at Thy word springs forth the lotus that covers all with fragrance and
beauty! Sonnet #3,000,745,001 OH LORDy
OH LORDy, howe wondrous is thy working beauty. Thou doth makest the rott sprout
violets from olden logg on water bank nearest stagnant pool whilst at Thy WORD the
lotus springeth forthwith to cover over all the smelling salts nearest hand to hold in
cuppboard bare the bone for elbert Hubbard gone. Hark the light from yonder glaring
glen forsook the frames the lenses now opaqued. Blind to world of beauty winter
paints a white mistaken ache in me. Amid the bones of whited elephaunt skunks
rome near me to harken when the crow calls daybeak come. Caw the raven quoth.
God forbode a man, that an Englaisman should tell or act a lie, neithor the Son of
GOD my Jesus, that He should feel repentance or compunction [for what his Father
has promised]. Has He sayeth, and shall He not say on? Or has He spoken and shall
He not make it gooder. Oh LORDy. For the reasoneth He stays upon His bethroned
placement is quite evident for iff GOD were to walk the Earth as a mere man in sight
of all this assembled Heathorns even for just one day twold make us all so jealous of
the miricles in the clay. For Jesus could open up his hand wiht a plott of dirty clay
and make a violet blooming say. Oh Lordy.
Jordan was born with mild Cerebral Palsy,
But took part in the 2012 Paras at just 16,
Because he was born on 12th of October,
1996, and Rio was is second Paralympics.
“Even if you don’t like school, I would [def]
encourage everyone to take part [and] enjoy
sport, be it badminton, swimming, athletics
…ask others…don’t be shy, just go for it.”
Jordan made the London Paralympic finals,
But he remembers the Swansea Europeans
With great pride, because his birthplace is
Cardiff, even tho’ he trains at Loughborough.
In 2014 in Swansea he won a shining bronze,
For both his sprints - he runs in the T35 class.
In the 100 and 200 he did pride by speeding,
To the line by much strength, determination.
He says about sacrifices “I have a 300-mile
round trip from home in Cardiff to my training
camp at Loughborough twice a week, so
again, that takes some determination.” Fixity.
He feared he’d miss out on Rio’s Paralympics,
Because his groin hurt him so much, exercising,
Such that he thought he’d have to miss, bypass
The Euros in July in Italy, the entrance to Rio.
But a doctor at Nuffield Health’s Vale Hospital
Inserted a nylon mesh in Jordan’s week groin,
To reinforce it, but it is a partially dissolvable
Mesh so that he doesn’t feel it when running.
Jordan won two more bronzes in Grosseto,
In Italy in his skills, the 100 and 200 metres,
And so competed in Rio de Janeiro gallantly,
But sadly did not strike gold to top the charts.
footnotes
im tryina finish another 20 page chapbook
this is the first part of 2 of what i got so far because its too long for 1
then sneak is thin
an inch is in
transition is trinsition
Riverside
1 The Watchtower
Embryos and fluids
More sez smoke than a Buddhist
Not such a bad idea have the nudists
Never has Alicia Silverstone looked so clueless
2 The Fall
A bright sun comes out with its heat
Then, a cool breeze
On Howe ave, nana's place
Frosted Flakes
They say that time's money but really I'm just tryina waste away
3 '08
Peers all smokin' weed
Talks about how fun it'd be
Just turnin' 16
Google then sneak
About the 10th session later, lit deemed
Gettin' hooked a bit seems
Somewhere to smoke, not too but
quietly
4 August
16 years old, shoutin' and screamin'
A head full of dreams dreamin'
The sun beamin'
Sweat off of skin steamin'
5 Open Letter
Enough mistakes made
Seemin' to relate fades
From the old ways, change
For what have may placed
6 Lost
There's the bridge, to the right
Just over a hill, a cold winter 3rd Ward night
It's dark but a bit lit
A snow storm with an inch
Not too many but just a few people on their way
Not too late
On such a lost path
All that's left behind's so sad
7 Hope
Nothin's permanent these days
Not countin' on much besides tryina get paid
Never's known whatll go which way
Love blind without feelin' betrayed
> >
> > A RECIPE FOR FUN
> > Author: Dennis Howe
> > February 2001
> >
> > Take ten
> > seasoned ball players and throw
> > in a large pinch of leather and aluminum.
> > Put the mix on a dirt field in the shape of a diamond
> > and add some green salad grass for color. To this, add
> > another ten seasoned ball players with a large pinch of leather
> > and aluminum. Raise the heat slowly to about 80 degrees, with a
> > few clouds for partial shade. No mud. Slight breeze, but no wind.
> > Add two pitchers of medium grit. Marinade some team spirit and
> > sportsmanship. Dice some Twinkies, sunflower seeds and chewing
> > gum. Sprinkle with water and soda pop to taste. With a white ball,
> > at game time, stir all these ingredients together with grounders,
> > foul balls, fly balls, base hits and home runs, and garnish with a
> > strike-out or two. Do not add sliding. Sugar, sweat, and verbal
> > spices can be chopped in at this point. Scoring is to taste and
> > recorded for future reference. Pour these flavored items
> > in to a large softball bowl, and then separate into
> > individual servings on Saturdays at Clark Park.
> > Finish with a handshake, pat on the
> > back, and a hearty..............
> > "see ya next week"
> >
> > The ASU Intra-University Softball League thanks "Chef" Dennis Howe for his
> > role in organizing, supporting and participating in this League since 1987.
"Steeped" in resentment at usurious taxes, a Revolution was "brewing!"
History records that the Boston Tea Party was to be the Brits undoing!
An anguished groan was heard as barrels of tea were hurled into the sea!
Their grog of rum they might forego, but never their tot of tea!
Every pupil has read Longfellow's, "Midnight Ride Of Paul Revere!"
And his lantern signals to be hung in the belfry on that midnight clear.
"One, if the Brits approach by land - two, if they approach by sea!
We'll catch 'em by surprise, 'cause they'll be sipping oolong tea!"
A decisive battle was fought to a standstill at Bunker Hill.
Although the rag-tag Yankee militia lacked in military skill,
They fought like tigers, Sir William Howe could readily see,
As he pondered his next move eating his scones and slurping tea!
On a dreary Christmas Eve, Washington crossed the Delaware.
The Brits were celebrating and were taken completely unaware!
Caught by surprise in Trenton, they were unable to flee,
All because they had to have that inviolable break for tea!
According to historians and such like who like to keep score,
They found that the Brits won many battles but they lost the war!
Though the point is debatable and the Brits might disagree,
Would we be speaking Cockney, had they not paused for a cup o' tea?
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
The skirmish at Bunker Hill almost became a British scandal,
Since the Yanks gave the Brits almost more than they could handle!
General Howe expected the Yanks to toss their muskets and flee,
But the Yankee rabble fought to keep the colonists free!
Things looked mighty bleak during the winter at Valley Forge,
Where the ragtag troops regrouped to nettle old King George!
Starving and freezing, stalwart men suffered the winter through,
To show the Brits that they had bit off more than they could chew!
Lord Cornwallis' troops wore uniforms of bright, flaming red,
Making east targets for the Yanks, leaving many of them dead.
The bobtail mob wore tattered home-spun clothes of gray,
That blended in with tree and bush much to the Brit's dismay!
The canny Yanks hid behind tree, rock and craggy rise,
And were told, "Don't shoot 'til you see the whites of their eyes!"
The Brits marched in tight file to the beat of a rolling drum,
All to flaunt their strength and bravado, which was kinda dumb!
Brits had never fought such a war before and hollered "foul!"
Lord Cornwallis finally conceded defeat and tossed in the towel.
Thankfully, the colonists' dream of independence came true.
Just shows what Yankee common-sense and ingenuity can do!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)