Long Lowliest Poems
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Buck privates are designated the lowliest of the ranks,
And for all they do, they receive very little thanks.
The corporal says do this and the sergeant says do that,
And if he doesn't comply, he's in for a disagreeable chat!
The sobriquet "private" is a misnomer if ever there was one,
Because privates have absolutely no privacy and very little fun!
From the call of reveille to the plaintive notes of "Taps",
He's kept on a frantic pace until ready to collapse!
The sergeant rides in a jeep, the corporal in a truck,
But the foot slogging private is just out of luck.
With his weapon and meager belongings strapped on his back,
He walks and it's all he can do to keep from blowing his stack!
The recruiting sergeant's syrupy spiel failed to include,
That corporals and sergeants tend to be somewhat rude!
And to everything that moves he must render a salute!
Before enlisting, he muses, "I should've been more astute!"
He keeps plugging along and playing their inane game,
Satisfied that if anything goes wrong he can't be to blame.
He'll just continue to take orders from the powers that be,
Eagerly awaiting his discharge from the infernal infantry!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Donkey
Pin back your ears
Settle down for the ride
And you'll find a warm feeling
Somewhere way deep inside..
Here is a story
That has often been told
It's full of excitement
and never gets old
It starts with a journey
You've heard it before..
There's Joseph, Mary and baby
And donkey makes four.
They travelled from far
To Bethlehem's Inn
Where a bed for the night..
..well it wasn't a thing
So the Inn Keeper showed them
A place round the side
With a shed and some straw
And a manger to hide
And here at the stable
As all gather around
The new baby gurgled
a heavenly sound
And the star of the show?
Not the one high above
It's this baby right here
The one swaddled in love
So here is the thing
As our story unfolds..
The star in the sky
Sends a message so bold...
Like a beacon to signal
To nations and races
That this King has been born
To put smiles on our faces
"I'm here for this child
so all people can see
There's a star up in heaven
So much brighter than me."
So to ears that can hear
And to eyes that can see..
A message of joy
Tells of all that can be..
But one creature here
Knowing more than the rest..
Having carried the baby
Having passed every test
Knowingly munches
By the crib filled with hay
That this baby will save us
From bad things one day
He knows that this child..
Is far more than enough.
The reason we celebrate
All this Christmassy stuff
The greatest of gifts
With the lowliest start
For the baby is coming
To reclaim your heart
So pin back your ears
Settle down for the ride
And try not to deny
That warm feeling inside..
@jinjagoliath
December 18th 2021
@jenna.mckell.creates
Image: With the Animals
SOLDIER OF BATTLES.. Steve Hudson
It started, in silence, in infancy; the eyes look beyond the darkness
To understand the sounds of rage, echoes of misunderstanding,
The beginnings of normalcy wrought with disturbance,
Bereavement for the loss of innocence and the first lesson learned.
The lines in ground becoming clearer.
The only thing that ever came easy for me is warring,
Not because I chose the ground, but because it chose me.
Here is your sword; here is your battle,
The field is endless and there is no turning back,
So find your heart and find your place among the ranks
You sojourn with.
You tell one another it will be okay, and that we will pull through,
But no one really knows.
Its only after our first encounter and mortal blow that we find some
Courage to face another foe.
The welcomed peace endured for a season, then skies darken
On eminent splayed horizons and shadowy realms of spirit
You try to make sense of the next wave of terror,
Taunted and vexed at every turn.
Your enemies take form in shapes of, what is true?
Wrestling, pondering among bloody concepts and the why.
Wounds received through fearful encounters take shape of scars,
Scars take shape of trusted moments carried through
Onslaughts of deception.
Fallen men on smoldering ground, tormented by hounds of confusion.
This is how it started, but not how it ended for you see,
There was One we found in heated skirmish
Battle hardened and sure footed, the spear and shield wielded
With skillful hands, He inspired confidence in us all.
On days we found respite, He sat with us and taught strategies in warfare,
The secrets to winning the hearts and minds of defeated bretheren.
The certainty and comfort in His eyes, told stories of ancient victories held.
A kingly stature though plain to view, never considered Himself better
Then the lowliest man I knew.
We asked about some of the scars He brandished,
“They are scars received from the greatest of man’s struggles,” He said,
He got them while defending the poorest of souls.
It was then we understood, it was of us He spoke.
So now we gladly fight for this One who became the captain of our heart,
We’ve learned from the truths that have pierced our very souls,
our greatest cause and reason to be.
A soldier of battles was He…
Beloved souls, hear me as I speak, thus is my life, a hymn of compassion, an eternal psalm of love.
I walked amongst the lowly not with pity but with understanding, for in their suffering, I saw the seeds of the divine. To the broken, I once was a healer.
To the outcast such am I, I to them was a friend.
In my wandering I spoke to the lowliest of the low, not with the weight of condescension, but with compassion of our shared humanity.
My heart beats with empathy for the poor, the wounded, and the forgotten. I turned my gaze to women, not as lesser beings but as equals, with spirits as radiant as the stars.
To the Samaritan woman at the well, I offered the water of my life; to Mary Magdalene, redemption and love.
I see not your labels but your hearts, and through them, I have revealed that the soul has no rank or measure in the kingdom of heaven.
I walked into courthouses and knew indignity, my anger kindled against the corruption that sullied the just.
For I knew that worship without justice is an empty offering, and love without action is a withered vine.
My hands, calloused from state slavery, lifted the fallen and gave up knowledge to the hungry.
to them my voice, was gentle yet firm, and I call for a love that burns brighter than gold and a faith that stands stronger than the mountain that once was moved.
I know that the pain of life and the shadow of death, yet I have embraced both with open arms.
For in This life, I have taught you to live boldly, to love freely.
In my coming death, to you there is hope eternally, to rise again anew.
So, let us learn to speak, not with hurtful words, but with empathetic deeds that bloom from the garden of our hearts, tending to the lowly, the forgotten, and to love each other.
Amen.
My life, like everybody else’s, is a treasure trove
with a mine from which one’s treasures are derived.
The familial bonds we form are platinum; our friendships gold.
These are precious ores that most souls are born to find with ease.
But all of us have other precious stones we need to mine.
They are the fruit of skills and talents put to their best use.
My treasure trove abounds with gems already -
ones that I discovered as a child.
Though rough in their natural form, most of them I opened
as I grew in understanding of God’s gifts for me.
Others not so easy to break open were able to be shaped,
for once I sought them out inside my mine
and cracked them open. . . their radiance was revealed to me.
Our precious gems, God-given, must not be squandered.
Once mined, they need to be shared.
Artists, teachers, scientists, tradesmen, leaders, even dreamers -
we all have different kinds of gemstones hidden in our mines.
Once, later on in my own life,
I came upon a silver tool used by many different types of artists.
I’d seen it in my youth but hardly used it.
Thousands of words lay embedded in that specific tool God gifted me.
I delved into the depths of my mine and learned
that I could tap and tap the silver worded tool upon each stone,
and finally a gem would then reveal itself to me.
The more I searched for stones to tap,
The more wondrous were the nuggets that appeared -
And there were more of them than I’d believed I could ever find -
buried there so deeply in my mine!
The art of crafting them and polishing them up
I was able to improve upon in time. . .
and found that even those less valuable could shine!
A poet’s gems need not be bought or sold.
Displaying them with love and pride alone can be fulfilling.
How I thrill to view a wide variety of gemstones
freely shown from others’ treasure troves.
From the rarest and the clearest multi-faceted
color-shifting Alexandrite and tanzanite,
and the most remarkable of diamonds, rubies,
sapphires, emeralds, amethyst and jade,
down to the lowliest of onyx, quartz, garnets, or agates,
each stone has something of the poet’s soul within it,
especially beautiful when polished to a brilliant sheen!
The more I open gemstones in my mine, the more of them I find,
and my silver-worded tool lies nearby at the ready.
Palm Sunday
Shopping and hawking,
purchasing and vending their wares;
the observant noticed;
the indifferent paid no mind;
the powerful perturbed by all the noise
make their way to confront
and charge the man
some call anointed.
Loud and raucous singing
disturbs the quiet of the status quo.
Those who should be seen and not heard
are making the utmost clamor;
appreciated by some;
angering others
insisting they turn the volume down.
Boulders will sing
while trees will give their branches
to welcome the mighty
if the lowliest of participants
are muzzled by the powerful,
but they sing in applause;
an affront to the self-made mighty.
Shaking off the winter greys and
waving springtime green,
a shout welcomes the anointed one.
Thrown off fashion lines the path
covering eager rocks
postponing the clearing of their throats.
Join the cavalcade
and raise the benediction;
awaken the sleeping alleluias
and the slumbering hosannas.
Join the lowest of the low
and applaud the highest of the high.
But beware,
the shoppers are eager to buy,
even if the cost is high.
And the hawkers are ready
to sell their merchandise.
Despair of spectres whispered, John heard it muttered
Fears spoken, centuries of shame sunk into stone
Hanging tree hoisted him, feet above ground fluttered
Rope bound neck bulged, blood starved eyes shuttered
Aghast, entertainment starved spectators absorbed gore
Under his breath they heard it uttered,
" I am among the lowliest, and the last"
Sentiment collected by authorities, soon to outlaw
Heinous hangings of criminals and martyrs
Testiment to the cruelty, trademark of cessation
Clouds of purest doves spun above the atrociousity
Tyburn' s turbulent history viewed at Marble Arch
Has John's pledge to thank for returning compassion
14th September 2020
For: Line Gauthier 's Contest
Tyburn Collaboration max. 14
I lived in a land where the coconuts grew
where the sun always shone
under sky that was blue
where the fans on the ceilings
and conditioned air
were the only cool breeze
you could find anywhere.
I basked in the heat, and baked in the sun
where living and loving
were always good fun
where I woke up happy
to meet every day
knowing that working
was simply more play.
An island afloat in the tropical seas
with sun, sea and sand
meant only to please
the locals so friendly
the food so divine
with flavour so scrumptious
it didn’t need wine.
From it’s beaches to hilltop, from jungle to street
from market to temple
in trishaw, on feet
shone beauty and wisdom
in all you could see
where even the lowliest soul
could soar free.
I lived on an island, the island caught me
by my heart, where it stays
and I still long to be
a ‘Pearl in the Orient’
second to none
where dreams were alive
under tropical sun.
Now many years on and I’ve never been back
though an ache in my heart
still marks out the track
that I took in my youth
under tropical sun
when ‘Pulau Pinang’
was the place I learned fun.
Ivor G Davies
Deep in the forest
On a heading of northwest
We weren't looking for anything of interest
When we came across a wooden bridge woven
Together with the creepiest
Rope which was between two rock ledges
Sitting on the crest.
We didn't go near or cross because much
To our surprise our binoculars showed
Underneath the bridge lived what looked like
A family of trolls that alot in my expedition party
Were ready to attest.
They said let's be honest
Everyone needs a place where they can get
Dressed,
Digest
Food, and feel blest
To have guests.
Director we are asking that at your earliest
Opportunity please erase this quest.
We will forget that we saw some of the
Homeliest,
Grimiest,
And down on their funds lowliest
Trolls that we by passed with zest.
Excuse me, those weren't trolls as you first
Suggest
They're humans who are hard pressed.
~ A Poem on the Parsha* ~
'In the Sinai Desert'
A wilderness - barren, desolate
that snakes and scorpions populate
Flat, sand-swept, open to all
who yearn to hear Eternity's call
There God led His new nation
Spoke to three million, atop a mountain gradation
On Horeb, the lowliest of them
face-to-face ~ Moses and Jerusalem
________________________________________________
*'Parsha' is Hebrew for (loosely) 'portion.' Every Sabbath
a portion of the Five Books of Moses is read in the
synagogue. In a year's time, all five books are completed,
and the grand occasion is celebrated at the last holiday
of the Fall Harvest Season, 'Simchas Torah.' (lit., 'Rejoic-
ing with the Law.'). This Sabbath, the portion read is titled
'In the Desert,' from the Book of Numbers 1:1 - 4:20.