Long Humbug Poems
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Bah! Humbug! 'Tis again that time of the year,
When I must go hither and yon spreading good cheer.
Ho, ho, hoing as wriggling brats sit upon my knees,
Boring me with their interminable pleas!
I try to animate the beast with the shiny red nose.
The other cantankerous brutes won't rally 'til he goes.
This year, please clear the snow off your roofs!
If one breaks a leg I have no spare hoofs!
How about leashing your beloved family mutt!
Frankly, I'm weary of being nipped on the butt!
And I'm getting sick of your crummy cookies and milk.
How about some salami and cheese or something of that ilk!
I've really suffered a most ruinous year.
Mrs. Claus and those pesky elves formed a union up here,
Working less hours and demanding more pay!
I doubt I'll have enough toys to fill the sleigh!
If I sound somewhat like I have the grumps,
I've just been feeling down in the dumps.
Folks, I need your help to make me merry.
This whole Christmas thing I alone cannot carry!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
the circle of evil
Christianity is embedded in Europe's mind
alas, it is losing its grip under the influence
of other religions and heathen life
The clerics have nothing to offer, only
platitude and sex abuse behind glorious
brocade and oily words.
Love, charity, and forgiveness are
forgotten in the melee of free expression
We are served a TV that lacks humor
banality seeking to mollify the masses
Comedy is no longer ironic but is about
using filthy words to harvest laughter
Politicians are self-seeking and corrupt
even when wrong, go on telling lies
Newspapers, too, served as gospel truth
because we have lost the real meaning
which is about respect and love
peace and forgiveness; the rest is humbug
spoken from pulpits, in churches, that
has lost all credibility
Valentine Humbug
Home all alone.
Sit and groan.
In a St. Patrick’s Day Pinch
Wore no green
*Pinch felt mean.
Easter’s Glad Tidings for Lambs
Forget the lamb.
Let’s eat ham.
Labor Day’s for ALL?
No work off
while bankers scoff
The Halloween Boogie
It’s no mask.
Please don’t ask!
The Thanksgiving Whine
Turkey got burned.
I got spurned.
Christmas Blues
Had a rift. . .
Where’s my gift?
Sept. 24, 2018 for Mark Toney's Six-Word Couplet Series Poetry Contest
* One person mentioned they did not understand the Pinch in the second verse. For some reason, in the United States there exists a strange custom that if one's friend is not wearing green on St. Patrick's Day, you may pinch him!
Without light, the world is cold and dark.
Sans decorous evergreens to light up the park.
Cries in the night, flesh hidden from view.
It’s a nightmare - a deep, unsettling brew.
The sun, moon and stars, lightning flash
all traded away for immorality’s cash.
“Think…think…think…”
Can’t remember one iota of ink
from the treasure trove of prophecy
and its fulfilment. Despondency -
weeping and gnashing of teeth
in an angry and funereal bier underneath
the sheath you thought protected you -
world was your oyster, avoided the pew.
Laughter and arrogance like thick fog,
now you reside in a fiery bog.
Dear one, this is not what the Father wanted,
however you, in reverie, were not undaunted.
“Commandments, rules, bah-humbug…”
Your claws, to the center of the earth, dug.
Your plot led to your eternal plot.
You’d close your ears to what was taught.
Is it merely a nightmare? Is there time left to believe?
The hourglass sand of 2,000 plus years. Rapture’s Eve?
12/15/2022
“One’s Journey on Earth is sacred. Not to be handed to any drug, including low frequency love. Ego, a temporary illusion needs an illusion, need itself is an illusionary arising, like any drug.” Poet
~~~~~~~~~~~
soul needs no drug, remaining pure in stability
unbounded in unconditional love
FEAR rises its hydra head flavouring
itself with euphoria, craving followed by
withdrawal then relapse ~
Love hijacked in purity becomes
diluted, polluted, contaminated
an enchanting play of neurotransmitters
depressing, stimulating, synergising or
antagonising ~ all food for cognising
low level love aligns with drugs
addictive chemicals arise in brain as thugs
escaping pain, suffering not for soul gain
low level love experienced as moving
sensations nothing but preconceptions
ego sabotages Love in octaves low
drinks it brave like liquor craves
taste so intoxicating becomes addiction
elating, escaping from objective reality
one sees only density pulsating
love is drug when personality cannot
act independently from object of love
becoming tame dove - hesitant, petulant or penitent
when love is defined by rules or regulations
it sails like a hidden battleship, unseen whips
no free will equals damnation
low level love like any other drug curtails
freedom of decision making
often of movement becoming nail to jail
presents as safety net, y’all bet
imposes itself on Being of another
a drugged attunement, insipid inducement
love is drug when service is obligated
when connection not mutually beneficent
incompleteness rise in absence of other
resonating artificial, superficial
love is drug when other becomes reference point for action, evolution or satisfaction
dependency darkens energy of object and subject underlined by need to feel safe
this equals no faith
as L O V E ascends its octaves into
independent
S O V E R E I N T Y
it stands in courage serenity trust
no need for low level love
concoctive as a humbug drug
_________
Placed 10th : Premier Contest
Sponsor : Rob Carmack
Whatever happened to the twelve o ‘clock rambler,
nocturnal venturesome brushstroke sort,
they paint sound and city pastel,
never at a loss for inspiration,
weather neither bar nor barrier,
in the face of whirlwind snowfall,
freezing ice, torrential downpour,
within themselves, he, she, they plod on,
hardship is adopted, never cast aside,
while others brazenly squirm,
wallow in uproarious denial,
wilt before the slightest storm,
taking flight in arid comfort zone,
shelter is their first convenient port,
not for stoic diarist this threadbare exit,
exodus of the half-hearted humbug,
but ironclad ilk stubbornly remain,
eyes and ears are substitute antennas,
alert does not begin an ample portrait,
of this wilful dwindling genus,
genus, genie, genius, glow worm ghost,
peaceful prowlers with pen on queue,
they capture worlds sidereal,
under velvet moon imagining bespoke,
crescendo of cathartic bonhomie,
icy night frost punctured by high drive fog horns,
deft nib from dark ink manteau nomad,
who engross themselves in light and shade reflection,
how magical their canny weave lexicon,
for us timid souls to relish evermore,
as we balk at the eerie life we revel in,
vicarious the kismet, excitement from afar,
drama under bridges, shadow figure chinwag,
river stream babble, blind alley gust,
eavesdrop on historic past teaser,
litter swept aural gossip whoosh,
eventide mournful dog bark heart tug,
darting elfin’s sly mind peep thereon,
yet the vagabond minstrel has to comb,
each backstreet, zebra crossing, sprawling suburb,
for inert sleepy after hour dozers,
who crave eye candy fodder as humdrum sidestep
These humorous lines were inspired by
Viv Wigley's "Food Fight" contest.
Could not resist the temptation:)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Lettuce pray before eating.
He likes rabbit, but can’t stand hair in stew.
A carrot is worth its weight in gold.
To lam a lamb? Terrible!!
Is it wise to pare a pear before eating?
Chopin onions – not musical but certainly tearful!
The bull’s life is at steak.
Cross my heart said the honest brussel sprout.
The pig was too thin...that saved his bacon.
Wearing a bird costume sent me raven mad.
Buy caviar from stir gin’s row.
The servant was maid to eat umble pie.
She could hardly talk after eating hoarse meat.
He’s wrapped up in his food.
Humbug! This is apple sauce!
Excitement in the kitchen – fat in the fire.
A flounder struggles to walk. It’s flat footed.
I enjoyed my drink – pleased as Punch.
One look at the dessert...I scream!
Take the guilt off the gingerbread.
I invited the golfer to high tee.
Take your plaice at the table; we’re eating fish today.
Open the lid and reveal some of the meat.
What a pity! The gobbling turkey had a lump in its throat.
The peacemeal destroyed our friendship.
Make no bones about filleted fish.
Next time just ask for dessert; don’t mince words.
Keep your eye on the roast, or else it will go to pot.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Placed 3rd
© 28th December 2017
Oak trees from tiny acorns grow.
I know that this is true,
It did not happen to me,
Has it happened to you?
I was a tiny baby,
That grew into a little girl
I always thought that maybe
I would be tall with blonde hair and curls.
What happened? Well, you may ask
That oak tree acorn thing
It never came to pass
My acorn did not flourish much,
It grew to a particular stage
Then it went berserk: To grow?
No, to combat my old age.
I am losing height
At the rate of knots
I shall soon disappear,
If this shrinkage doesn't stop.
So I say, Bah Humbug
What a lot of Tommy Rot
It may happen to Oak trees
But an Oak tree I am not!
It was the night before Christmas,
And all the worms were fasting,
Making room for all the Christmas leftovers,
From tables oversupplied,
By humans with eyes bigger than stomachs,
And Credit cards well over their limits.
It was the time for young worms to dream,
And adult worms to hope for no change to the menu,
Or last-minute venue shift.
Oh what a month of feasting the worms did have,
In patches of gardens,
Full of freshly dug in treats,
Just right for worms with no teeth.
Some humans even prepared compost bins,
And placed the lucky worms inside,
To save them time.
Alas that was then,
Now the worms that can wriggle out from underneath the concrete,
Find nothing dug in,
And few compost bins.
With plastic bags to keep the worms from their feast,
And flies, stray cats and dogs,
The replacement waste contractors,
Are at the disposal of Humans.
Now all that is left for the worms are a few dead birds,
And the occasional rat,
As nothing that is dug in, is without a plastic coating.
It should not come as any surprise,
If a human could hear a worm discussing Christmas,
That the word HUMBUG would be the loudest,
As they migrate to the nearest human graveyard,
And hope for someone to drop in for Christmas.
"If I weren’t afraid, I'd..." move to heaven.
But suicide is frowned upon, up there.
It seems there is NO path free of leaven
neglect yields censure, insults follow care
Does gay marriage do well to make this point -
should kids not be borne to this broken world?
Not a lifestyle I'd prefer or anoint,
but granted, earth's end IS being unfurled.
Unfurled with red flags touting abortion,
A second issue that I can't endorse.
As ethical questions flout distortion,
many gallop down this barbaric course.
The border gleans talk, such politic-ese
Opinions thereon, I judge have gone south.
Concentration camps, bah humbug, puh-lease!
"Want credit for the rain, take blame for drought."
August 17, 2019, edited September 10, 2019
back in the days before coronavirus captured the conversation
last line quote, Dwight Morrow