Long Inexorably Poems
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Pray masquerading hidden beauty,
Sweet innocent Princess Cinderella
She of midnight pumpkin slipper glass
For whom the ball bell's
Be spared your humble prince his
blushes of asking for your hand
and pleasure of your company
And so to please accompany me into the
banquet hall for the remainder on this
most auspicious summer evening
His Majesty quite inexorably is taken
with your strength and presence as yee
his confidence you have shaken
And he wishes to if nothing else discover
the name of said fair maiden woven into
that bespoken silken dress that grace
herself doth silhouette such blinding figure
of the number eight
If this be my kingdom i am over which to
reign then surely i duty bound as said king
should wish the fairest princess in all the lands
under my domain to take and marry as my Queen
and mother bare she and i a rightful heir to follow
the line of succession
For if the price of royal cross to bare is
duty before self then let me please this 1
concession have
Let me please for marry love and get to
choose she that which doth my heart desires
with a wanten passion worthy of an endearing
romantic fairytale ending where the protagonists
end up growing old together gracefully
So come the when the clock after
the bewitching hour of midnight 12 o'clock
strike shall you not be with a but slipper
left to seek you out once more
Rather we dispense with pleasantries and be not another
further single we a second lost just incase
either of you and i be in both in a state of
wistful dreaming
Only to be told my unconscious subliminal Julliet
was in reality to be in fact an unassuming passing
stranger terminal cancer patient who choose to spend her final moments reading
Shakespeare's Romeo and Julliet to me whilst i was
in my coma
So when in fact or if indeed eventually i was to
awake the time i lost could be permeated
by an empathetic soul by the voice of
an angel
Falling victim only to be branded with the mark by one of life's cruelest of intentions better to have loved
and lost than never to have loved at all
How are things in Rome, my love, the Rome we knew so long ago?
Do the crystal waters in the Fountain of Trevi still gently flow?
Does the coin we tossed in there yet shine? I'd really like to know,
Or like the love of our feckless youth, has it lost its glow?
I was a lonely soldier boy far from home and she was lonely too.
When I saw her across the crowded room, my heart skipped a beat or two!
'Tis said that a woman loves a man in uniform but I'm not sure that's so!
I felt it much more than that as in her eyes I saw a special glow!
I have fond memories of our dinners sipping Chianti with speghetta,
And the thrilling rides along the Tiber on our trusty old Lambretta!
The moon shone on just the two of us as we held each other tight,
Pledging our eternal love with a tender kiss on that very special night!
Alas, time moved on inexorably as it will and I returned to fighting war.
'Tis said that tossing a coin in Trevi ensures your return to Rome once more!
But it was not to be. I can only cherish sweet memories in my heart!
I sadly muse, "How are things in Rome, my love, since we've been apart?"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
(PS: I hasten to add that this is a fictional write otherwise I'd be in deep and
serious trouble with my wife!!!!!)
As he brushed his golden locks, he detected something stressing.
The skin around his noble forehead was inexorably progressing!
(Politically correct types tend to call this "follicle regression!")
Alarmed at this discovery, he suffered terrible depression!
"Follicle regression", now that was a mysterious term to him.
It left him totally confused and feeling somewhat grim.
He consulted his Funk 'n Wagnalls for a simple definition.
Alas, this august tome had no explanation for his condition!
A visit to his barber further compounded his dismay.
"The only solution I see for your plight is a nice toupee.
Son, you have a very serious case of 'follicle regression';
I recommend you get a consult from the medical profession!"
With his barber's observations he was not content.
He sought his doc's advice concerning his predicament.
"I have no remedies but this I'll say without hesitation;
Follicle regressive types are very macho, if that's any consolation!"
Tho' they insisted upon calling it "follicle regression",
He never fully understood what they meant by that expression.
Call it what you may, he was certainly not enthralled!
To his utter consternation, simply said, he was going bald!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
she sat lonely
on the beach
in the submissive darkness
the moonlight
highlighting the red eyes
& the dark shadows beneath them
she looked so beautiful
as the golden strands of her hair
blew in the zephyr
her lips quivered
as if complaining
& then they curved
in a dazzle
brightening the
chiseled features
on the pale, white face
But the smile ruined
as a cruel wave crashed
into the reverie
reverie of
the waters,
the stars,
only that she wasn’t alone…
In an aching hope,
she stood up
& started calling out her love
no response.
she called louder
still no response.
she started walking down
in the dark waters
Beckoning her love
she went deeper & deeper
in the sea of love
now her words…
a whisper
still deeper, she went
And then, still & silence
the next night witnessed
a miraculous presence
a pair of stars shone brightly
at a rare corner,
blinking inexorably
under the grey canopy
of the sky
she had reached her destiny,
& the destiny of mystique love…
Within womb universe’s birth
nebulous placenta housed
seeds of life and white lily
billions of years in future
mid-wifery lady Madonna i.e. Gaia
twill abort... cancel... fail
cosmic amniotic fluid infinitesimal kernel
unknowingly intimated mother earth
giver of extant flora and fauna
unleashed post big bang cosmic explosion
galactic matter ala Jackson Pollack
across void
impregnating fecund celestial field
embryonic entities
germinating gamut multifarious
floral fauna spectrum
primordial soupy miasma
evolving millennial timeframe
distinct organisms *****sapiens
master exploiter oblate spheroid
usurped emiment domain
epitomized goddess of fertility
silent ovation humanity
predecessors ovulated
promulgating tentatively robust
quite pathological population
within clustered cloistered
substantial redoubts
mollycoddled, nursed
swaddled by ancestral
gracias moma mia
abba cud dab bra figures,
whose maternal role
guarded vulnerable progeny,
outfoxing invisible World Wide Web
building inexorably linked network
indomitable strength
against wild things
guaranteeing subsequent generations
flourishing webbed unbridled success
prompted contemporary bipedal hominid
chance genetic dice throw
origin of species weathering travails
horrendous maternal sacrifices
inducing acknowledgement
unknown female forebears!
The moth, inexorably drawn
To an incendiary fate,
Is tunneled to the wormhole's end
And placed in stasis, there to wait.
A single strand of silk is all
That ties it to a universe,
A speck caught in a cosmic thrall
Suspended in a quirky verse.
A strange fire arcs the silken cord;
The spark moves at the speed of light.
A dragon bursts forth from its lair,
Takes flight as the moth's wings ignite.
Back at the source, a blackish smudge,
The only hint of what took place.
A worm imagining set free,
Unleashed to roam in time and space.
————————
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 10 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
If anyone’s reading this poem, your somewhere in my past
I’m in the future for these ‘right now' moments never last
But still this is your present, such is the way time flows
All relative to the observer, every day comes and goes
So what am I doing right now, as your reading my poem
Perhaps going down a grave, most likely you’ll never know
We share the same planet, occupying two different worlds
One is in our head, the other one continuously unfurls
No matter how life is perceived, were merely passing time
That second hand keeps ticking, whilst hours happily chime
Seasons come and go, putting another birthday in the bag
Our circadian clock slows down, toned faces inexorably sag
Oh time that great leveller, eventually catches up with us all
Greatest force of nature, indifferent to light speed, or a crawl
Who started the clock ticking, or is all just radioactive decay
Countdown has only one direction, sorry there’s no other way
So onwards and upwards, past the stratosphere we will go
Back to where it all started, about fourteen billion years ago
And then what happens, that’s what you really want to know
I’ll let you in on the secret, perhaps not, will only spoil the show
''T'' Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
06/11/21
How can a Superhero
Fight against crime and sin
When daily there are fewer
Phone boxes to change in.
The crims would all laugh
At the luducrous sight
Of him in a lounge suit
Arriving for the fight.
Clark Kent has gone missing
From the Smallville scene
It’s almost as if he’d really
Never ever been
Nobody seemed to realise
He chose the same time to go
As Superman his Internationally
Known and famous Alter Ego.
Just when he was really needed
Superman has finally gone
Packed up all his kit
And quickly moved on.
He’s out there beyond the stars
In interstellar space
Trying to find himself
A more suitable planetary base.
The transformation to Super Hero
Had taken an infinitesimal time
But had been necessary
In his fight against crime.
It had had to be done quickly
And quietly and on his own,
But you didn’t need a little kiosk
To use a Mobile phone.
He watched in disbelief as
They spread inexorably on
Until the ubiquitous call box
Had almost finally gone.
Buildings once had lobbies
But not anymore
You needed a passcode of ID
To get through an electronic door.
And then all of a sudden
Things had got incredibly bad
Putin, Trump and Johnson as
Half the planet went mad.
When he decided to leave
He’d thought he might cry
But he departed with just
A slightly moist eye.
Just when he was needed
Superman was gone,
Packed all his bags
And quickly moved on.
He’s gone beyond the stars
To go and try his luck.
As for the Human Race,
He just couldn’t give a damn.
Except for the odd little thought
Of Earth and its simpler ways
Before the advent of theTwenty
Four Hour connected days
When when he was needed he
Could jump into any phone kiosk
And he could change very rapidly
Rght up from his undies and socks.
Slowly,
The air fills with blue, and the greens catch fire
The hammerlight of Summer
With little mouse-steps,
Steals off into apricity.
I divide my days
Between wine and responsibilities
As a child divides his
Between play and obedience.
The time itself, at its best,
Is wine to me,
Full of light and flavors
Vying for my attention.
The aptly named Sept/ember
Ignites itself against the skies;
Sets my soul asmolder
The inspiration I have begged and badgered
To arrive, does so at last
By its own rule, on its own clock
In the deep of the night
While I should be asleep.
I awake,
Dreams close behind my shoulder,
And find myself at this crossroads,
Inexorably older.
As the autumn and winter seasons inexorably unfold,
You can bet that I'm destined to catch my annual cold!
I've tried every remedy from the local pharmacist's shelf,
Includin' syrups, lozenges, even toddies to cure myself!
My nothe ith all thopped up an' I can hardly respthire.
My lungths are congesthed - they feel like they're afire!
My eyeths are red an' thwollen an' I can barely thee.
Every bone an' muthel in my body acheths - woe ith me!
I called the docther's offith for relief only to be told,
That he wath home in bed nursin' a nasthy cold!
He would've told me to take an athpirin an' go to bed.
I reckon I'll juth have to thuffer through it here inthead!
'Cold' ith a mithnomer for thith afflicthion anyhow.
"Why ith it called a cold?", I muse, throkin' my fevered brow,
An' quaffin' noxthious concothions to relieve my burnin' throat.
The meds can't quash my mithery, as the pharmathy ads promote!
Man hath thent rockeths soarin' through the boundleth univerth,
So why can't they find a cure for thith worrithome curth!
There musth be some college kid who thomeday will find a cure.
She'd be more than eligible for Nobel estheem I'm quite sure!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rightths Resethered