Long Inopportune Poems
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Unruly rabble demolished statues of General Robert Lee.
Now, the politically correct clique is a-comin' after me!
My name is Robert Lee as well and 'twas so inopportune,
That I be associated with the General, my name to so impugn!
The mob wants to eradicate anything to do with General Lee,
Includin' his namesake little old insignificant me!
Besides all of that I'm a Yankee born in the Hoosier state,
And had nothin' to do with the Rebel Cause I'm happy to relate!
So any of you fellers named Stonewall Jackson or John Bell Hood,
Hunker down 'cause a request to change yer name is a likelihood!
Robert Lee (Hinshaw)
Jealousy is crimson
Envy is green
They can make you vindictive
They can make you so mean!
They raise up their heads
So ugly and cruel
At inopportune moments
They can make you a fool!
You blow up in anger
And take a great fit
To find you're in error
And now must admit!
Why do we do it?
Why are we prone
To fits of frustration
When proof is unknown?
It has no place
In a loving affair
So have faith in your partner
Give them some air!
It will go a long way
To a happier time
If you trust each other
And your hearts are in rhyme!
Jealousy is crimson
Envy is green
They can make you vindictive
They can make you so mean!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
wind so strong ~~~
all night long ~~~
what damage |||
seen at dawn ||||
/// flower pots \\\
/// scattered \\\
/// all around \\\
broken plants
## petals ## strewn ##
too soon ~~~~
‘tis early June ~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
by a ~~~
wind ~~~
~~~ inopportune ~~~
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE no 1228'
Sponsor Brian Strand
2nd PLACE
‘Twas the most divine afternoon
The birds had gathered at high noon
All chirping beautifully in tune
Calling out to all, even that lone raccoon
’Twas the middle of the month of June
Never tiring of listening to the loon croon
she came to visit on a bench by the lagoon
With her thoughts bundled in a cocoon
‘Twas the twilight of their honeymoon
She sat there and considered her silver spoon
Where they were heading seemed now out of tune
Life never ceases to throw curves so inopportune
The evening witnessed the rise of a harvest moon
Could have lingered till she’d be about to swoon
While hoping to see galaxies beyond Neptune
Simply sent her wish adrift strung to a blue balloon
AP: 1st place 2025, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on September 14, 2018 for CONTEST NO.495 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
Ideas are brewing, in the air, in my hair.
Walking up my neck, whispering in my left ear.
I am at work.
Inopportune time.
I agree to take wild man.
Wild man is six.
Behaves more feral than my imagination.
I am a saint, the teacher whispers.
She is at the end of her rope.
He is a runner.
He is fast.
He has no limits.
I get him to my office
Strategically place my chair
In front of the door which I lock.
He does not notice.
Plays with all of my toys
Singing to himself.
Throws balls at me now.
Four of them.
My own balls.
I have glass walls.
People can see.
They all think I am a saint for taking him.
I am a writing fool,
Writing this as he throws the balls and laughs.
Ouch, I think.
Daring not to say it.
For this might delight him
And then he will begin throwing other things.
I sit here, writing, looking like an angel for taking this other angel.
One day, we will organize things by priority
Emphasize your health over your bounty
Favoring lenient prophylaxis above authority
In favor of people, rather than oil paucity
Up to this point, we will rely on charity.
Whether it was a donation or a reward
Because of you, I finally took the sword
I am paddling the currents of my hoard
In its wake, I went down with the horde.
Your limbs feel the kiss of the moon
She strolls happily in a fading sun boon
The poor plate waits for a spoon
What is the person who cannot feel others' swoons?
Noticing the arduous pain yet still inopportune
Water, not blood in veins, if they are tycoons.
Written: December 07, 2022
Love comes at inopportune times
It slides in sneakily
and grabs you by your leg hairs.
You might be out of practice
Cupid might be barking up the wrong tree
So you send him away
Knowing if it is love
Someone will prove it to you
Somehow
Besides you have been hurt before
What if he is one of those?
What if he takes another piece of you?
Is it worth the risk?
No one can tell you.
But I know one thing
You love who you love who you love
And when it happens
No one can slow it down
It comes in like a freight train
Sweeping you into a frenzy
That you would have never wanted to miss
So when you are ready
Fall in love gladly.
It happens rarely.
Sometimes he cannot recognize himself.
He cannot recognize his own hands, own legs, own shape,
even his own voice. It seems to him that he is an alien,
a man of different language who has been haunting him
for twenty four hours like a shadow.
Sometimes he calls himself by his own name.
It seems to him that thousand years have already passed.
Has his corpse been rotten then, or has he himself
been a mummy? Is he in a dwelling house or in a museum?
All on a sudden, he shouted loudly saying 'Thief! Thief! '
Saying 'Police! Police! ', he caught red-handed
his one hand by the other and said to himself, 'Who are you
at this inopportune moment here? ' And instantly he releases
that hand, nobody knows why, getting afraid very much.
Sometimes, as a guy, he just gets out of control
And at the most inopportune time, he stands up like a pole.
Like when the teacher calls on us to the chalk board at our school,
Right when we are daydreaming about the cheerleader who is kind of cool.
Or when our bus reaches our stop while we are watching that girl so cute
And we have to get up and off the bus when he’s standing in full salute.
Books in front can sometimes help when we have a pants pup tent,
Or quickly we try to think of something else to make our guy relent.
But believe me girls when I say sometimes it’s out of our control,
When our minds are clean and free but the blood just starts to flow.
I am fifty-two, way past puberty, and don’t mean this as a brag
But even still, sometimes in public, I need the old boy to sag.
I sometimes sleep on an airplane or on the ferry boat;
When my consciousness I regain, I need to strategically adjust my coat.
So I ask you girls, please understand and when in this position us you catch,
Just subtly please turn away as opposed to pointing and starting to laugh.
As embarrassing as this situation can be there is a condition we hate even more;
When we are with a willing partner and we can’t get our guy to roar.
The New N Word
Volcanoes erupt
Ice melts
Boulders
Scree
All move freely
All have purpose
Ultimately resting
Until dealt with
Or not
Such reality
Chooses not a destiny
Relying instead on nature's digestion
Its need to purge on occasion
Allowing gaseous release at times
Forging its evolution
Becoming either challenging obstacle
Or opportunity for progress
Why must some obviate such normalcy
Forever choosing square pegs
To fit round hole resistance
At any cost
Accusing simple physics as impediment?
We work at defying life's unfolding
Often insisting dark
Over light
Hard
Over soft
Pushing
Gouging
Throwing
Any and all organicity aside
After all
We are sentient beings
With comforts to protect
Supremacy to uphold
And the natural order of things?
The phenomena often delivering
Inopportune warnings
Of things to come?
Lest we forget
In spite of an insidious new N word
A 21st century conceived discrimination
Ignorance-embraceable
Intelligence-insufferable
Nature knows not enslavement