Long One armed Poems
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If ever I had to have a country victim of pedophily : LXXXVI
[Note: 216,000 cases of pedophily, perpetrated by the clergy, have been recorded by the Catholic Church in France since 1950.]
If ever I had to have a country, would that it be a country where no infant boy or lad need ever fear of being the victim of pedophily
Let it also be a country that sent no Albuquerque or Vasco de Gama, Drake or Raleigh, Cortes nor Dupleix to undermine the « street arabs » and « orphaned » heathens under seal of the Papal authority
For, remember how I was persuaded to assume the rôle of Ministre d’État Plenipotenciary without Portfolio or Duty, the Saviour of down-trodden Womenkind (O, « A Daniel come to Judgement ! »),
for I’d turn Torquemeda, revive the Inquisition, the Ace of Papacy
Will I let fresh-cheeked choir boys nor novice sacristans in strict page-boy linen, candle or Cross in hand lisping psalms disappear in the dense stench-filled folds of priestly « soutanes » behind pillars under Roman arches or polished teak encrusted encasements their stifled cries for help choked through holy promiscuity
Nor will I let Henry the VIIIth behead his wives in the Tower for failing to provide him with a male heir nor let no Archbishop lie bleeding at the Cathedral at Canterbury nor no politicking murder
stain some Florentian cathedral to foist the House of Medeci
You guessed right alright, I’ll take over the Tower of London as my foremost torture dungeon, call out the Swiss helmeted Guards with their spears and while I keep puffing at the Havana cigars (a chest-full gift from Fidel Castro, in grateful acknowledgement of inestimable services rendered to soft-ball gals in shedding excess weight on the ground) and keep crying out « Habemus » Pope to drown out the squeals yells and screams issuing from pedophiles pierced by Swiss lances in the rears of millions of priests found guilty
You bet that’s what I’ll do even if the entire Order of the Malte forgot about the Crusades against the Turks and Saracens - and poor one-armed Cervantes – during the Battle of Lepanto just to crucify me
And so what even if I never ever had no country with orphaned infants and laddies to pity
© T. Wignesan, Paris – Octobre 14, 2021
These people make me sick
These false prophets
These religious money pits
These well dressed demons of deception
Nothing but
Con artists
Liars
Purveyors of pure sacrilege
Pretending to offer you salvation
Offering you the comfort of the lord
For a price
Selling you a seat in heaven
The more you pay the better your accommodations
Religious travel agents
Without their blessing
You’re doomed to be left behind
You wont get into heaven
Without your donation
I myself believe in religion
Support all religions
They may be different in their views and customs
But the end goal is all the same
Eternal peace
But these people are different
They to,
Want peace…
Your piece
My piece
And anyone else’s piece they can get
Their goal is simple
Fleece the flock
Sell them promise
Sell them an eternal ticket
Guarantee them eternal bliss
For a price
Sell them anointed hankies
And blessed books
Promise them wonderful lives
With their religious looks
They are the one-armed bandits of the new age
With a bible in one hand and a credit card machine in the other
We take Visa, MasterCard, American Express and Discover
But no checks please
We need your “prayer” right now
Not in 7-10 days
These people make me sick
There are so many of them
Saying they represent God
Flashing 800 numbers
Requesting your “prayers”
Which will only be “answered”
As long as credit card is valid
Are people that dumb?
I mean really that naïve?
Do they really believe?
The cheap suits
Silk ties
And piss poor acting of sincerity and caring
Do they not see the obvious?
Are they truly blind?
Do they want to be spiritually slaughtered?
Do they not remember the one very important rule?
You never have to pay to pray!
All God has ever asked of anyone is their faith
Time, is your most valuable asset
It is what you have the least of in life
And this is what you pay to God
Your time devoted to him and your faith in him
Wake up, before it’s to late
You don’t have much time left
Spend it wisely
Spend it on God
Eric (and sometimes not)
My freshman year is ending and I’m as busy as a one-armed juggler. Of course covid is back.
It reoccurs at the worst times, like a movie slasher long thought dead.
When we have something scheduled very early in the morning, we call it an “early-burn.”
This one early-burn morning I had a 7am meeting. Peter and I had met for breakfast because he’s back in my life and he’s ALWAYS up and out early.
It was snowing and we were hurrying, because somehow, I always cut things close. I think I tripped over my shoe-string on a patch of ice. I went down hard and I heard this loud ripping sound. I’d ripped my pants badly and my book bag spilled too. I’m scrambling around on the ground in an attempt to grab some loose papers the wind was scattering.
Peter says, “Wow, your panties are really thin.”
I jump up “I feel you don’t know where our boundaries are,” I laugh, “you’re so nasty - don’t just stand there grinning - HELP me!” I indicate two papers for him to chase. I looked to see how bad the rip was (BAD). Of course, my coat was short that day, so I untucked my blouse. “How does this look?” I asked Peter.
“That works,” he said, giving my fix his imprimatur.
The two of us managed to corral the papers. “Let’s pretend that didn’t happen,” Peter said.
I realized I’d ripped my pants leg and scraped my knee badly - it was bleeding profusely.
“God Damn It!” I went off.
This lady comes up - seemingly out of nowhere - this old white Christian lady who we’d never seen before. She was so out of place and random and she says, “I really don’t think you should be talking like that in public.” She wasn’t harsh.
At that moment, a gust of wind came up that made me lower my head, as though I couldn’t look the old woman in the eyes but I was just ignoring her anyway - having my own set of issues to deal with.
She had a point though. I’m cursing too much these days. I feel like If I admit it, maybe it’s ok but I am trying not to cuss anymore - well less maybe - at least in a negative way.
“I think you look fu-kin’ GREAT,” would still be acceptable.
1. before 16 but after 14
2. 15 cents is not enough to get a gumball in a 25 cent gumball machine, nor is it the way
to pronounce correctly the name of famous rapper “50 cent”
3. in reference to a 15 year old hispanic girl’s birthday or Fiesta de Quinceañera
4. congrats, you are old enough to have sex in denmark & sweden
5. a crystal anniversary for the rare circumstance that the institution of marriage has
worked (or at least each individual has not been caught cheating yet)
6. in the english language, it is the smallest number to have 7 letters in its name when
spelled out f-i-f-t-e-e-n
7. 15 mph is the average speed that a penguin swims (when not angry or horny, you know how
those penguins can get)
8. “the devil’s card” in a tarot deck (and if you don’t believe in the devil, as i, well
then, for the both of us it is just the 15th card)
9. the amount of men on a dead man’s chest as found in a lyric of a sea shanty in robert
louis stevenson’s novel, Treasure Island
10. the amount of fingers that Li Jinpeng had been born with, prior to his operation at
age 6, which removed 5 of the 15 in late may of 2010
11. 1 ton of number 9 coal less than Tennessee Ernie Ford loaded in his song “sixteen
tons,” still owing his “soul” to the company store
12. if you caught the one-armed-man & you are both standing alone in an elevator on the
way up to book him, this is the number of fingers between the two of you
13. the minimum time a human head stays conscious after being decapitated (15
seconds)---time enough to shout curse your body for letting your head pop off so quick
14. the longest word without repeating a letter contains this amount of letters (english)
15. the amount of seconds it took you to skim this list quickly, decide that it’s not
poetry & get just a teeny-tiny itty-bitty pissed that the actual word wasn’t referenced in
number 14
Well, you asked for it so here goes!
I'm five-feet, eight inches tall from scalp to toes.
Born October 1930 in Indiana - so there, I've revealed my age.
I'm blessed with great health even at this elder stage.
Happily married to my dear Vera for 62 wonderful years,
And we've met life's vicissitudes with laughter and some tears.
Two daughters Leanna and Leslie but, alas, lost Mark, our boy.
Through the years they've brought Vera and me so much joy!
I'm blessed with 6 grandchildren and 4 great grands.
(I hope to stick around for more as my family expands.)
Enlisted at age 17 in the Air Force in 1948 retiring in 1978.
Assigned to Morocco, Germany and Japan which was great!
I 'fought' the Korean War in Bermuda dodging sea shells.
Met Vera in Bermuda and in Texas we rang those wedding bells!
Retired as a Chief Master Sergeant, the top Air Force enlisted grade.
'Twas a challenging, exciting life and I'm sure glad that I stayed.
While in the Air Force I earned a degree in Justice Administration,
And upon Air Force retirement became a Colorado Bailiff for my vocation.
I like folks who keep their word, are punctual and I don't suffer jerks gladly!
Me and the Lord are working on this but I have very little patience, sadly.
I love God, family and nation and enjoy writing poetry and even though,
I've penned nearly 1200, alas, as a bard I've made very little dough!
I like steak and taters and a sip of Beringers White Zinfindel now and then,
And going to Cripple Creek to play the one-armed bandit when I can.
Sorry if I bored you but once I began writing the words just seemed to flow.
Now, you probably know more about me than you ever wanted to know!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Entry for Regina Riddle's "Bio Poem" Contest
I know all things begin and end in eternity,
There have always been visitors,
I’ve seen them, haven’t you?
It’s scary how we treat them,
But would they treat us any differently?
Leaving the lights of LA way behind,
I’m heading for the blue remembered hills.
I don’t want to go back,
I've got everything here.
But when I look around, I see
That the only thing that I haven’t got
Is my freedom.
Look back to how it should and should not be,
Stacks of Gold teeth and glasses and clothes.
A history in pictures overflowing with grief,
One mistake and your life is over,
Just like the one armed man shovelling snow.
And still no sign of the red coat,
Listen to everything that she said.
Then shoot her in the head for being right.
They’ll take you from your homes,
And fill the ghettos with your kind.
You might as well be dead,
If they leave you there behind.
There’s no where left to hide,
And you don’t know who you can trust.
So many people dying,
A river of blood mixed with the dust.
How heavy does your heart feel?
To watch the senseless waste of life.
Covering your ears and holding your breath,
As the sound of a thousand feet run by,
Trying to be invisible.
When all the hiding places have been taken,
Tears are not enough
It will only make it worse.
The man with the gun in his hand
Playing Russian roulette with your lives.
One day I know he might shoot me
Secrets are something that I can’t hide.
The more I see, the more I fear,
I look through him, hoping that he does not see me.
Sometimes it’s not wise to know too much,
The more I see, the more I cry.
To be drunk with all this power,
Is not the same as being insane.
I hide when I can, but I can’t hide away forever.
Form:
1. Betrayal builds up with great energy
winning my man
comes with a heavy bill of cost.
The third, trying to make us two unhitched
brings out thunderous evil from a Timpani
coveting from a loved one
makes her a dipsomaniac
and not even the threat of a deadly flashpoint
will give this heavily envious heart
a strong reprimand.
Chorus
When he first came, she was the best friend
when he kissed me, she was still a friend
him shaking hands, made her our friend
too lil too late now, as I’m the friend.
2. Friend of a friend
but one heart has been scammed
a serenity watered by amity
but elsewhere loyalty works in locum.
Her good support of me was spaced aged
to make my man a heartless wrong doer.
The three now in a jackboot
is worse than a plaque.
The steam of her itchy romance
burns his instincts of adventure
to get some back door pleasures.
Chorus
When he first came, she was the best friend
when he kissed me, she was still a friend
him shaking hands, made her our friend
too lil too late now, as I’m the friend.
3. Noisy is the sound
which first started from an enjoyable bongo
he's a commoner you can pick with a coin
from a one-armed bandit
a ‘whore’ is a worthy appellation for her
my weeping heart from this divide
chunks out hatred on them
but unknown to me
in the city of love, their union
has turned out to be a principality.
Bridge x 4
You embrace me, holding her waist by the side
your mouth speaks as your heart looks the other side.
Chorus
When he first came, she was the best friend
when he kissed me, she was still a friend
him shaking hands, made her our friend
too lil too late now, as I’m the friend.
Leaving London
A thousand flickered lights
Beat out neon
Fantasies animation
Jerks its pseudo motion
Feet by fifty foot tall
On the south river board walk
Juke box gangsters one-armed bandit
Hang street corners
From the eyes red light
By cliché shop windows
Of a thousand past and spent Christmas glazed nights
Fishnet nylons legs
Twist on black stiletto
And stab their vended sex
Peep show neon by night
Beckons to the slow glue of gutters
And last years rain paint
Still shines on Eros
Street mirrors of a thousand flashing lights
Colour thrown to concrete
Looses its ghost
Down darkling alley recesses
Hide the gaunt faces
Of old guitar heroes
Unshaven lips stuck
To the bottles neck
Glints and stagger drunkenness
Flash blue corkscrews banshee wail
Through the avenue
As shoes shuffle around the spilt blood pool
Swells hot to cold in crimson
Breathing its last
For the sake of the 50.00
Now trembling hands
Had stashed in a pocket
A line of tambourine orange
Dances a sect jitterbug
Tapping bashing chanting
Out their impartial message
Ha-re Krishna Ha-re Krishna
Krishna Krishna Ha-re Ha-re
Shoulders back in the city
Eye to eye dares to look at me
Chill grip warns every stranger
To walk sidelong by
The night is rushing its spent conclusion
Cold wet kerbstone
Trips an indifference to warm held hands
I hate this place
Pavement meals and chewing on plastic
London’s dead walls
Of stinking underground passage and traffic
Time
I think
For me to leave
Go visit the trees
Return to the heart
I left in the country
I was encompassed within the sullen lust
Of gentrified prepositions
Incomplete adjectives layer the magnitude of
My emptied valor
I became entrenched in the touch
The smile
The tears
Of wistful elegance
This onyx cry
Now turns into an everlasting echo
I sing to these gated heavens
Where visionary angels no longer
Give me a second glance
Expectations rot unto red herrings
As supple conundrums
Insist my smile
Will “be ok”
The most conformed lie,
The most performed cry,
I was ever beaten with
…
Salted whips bless this tenderness,
Her one-armed caress
Diluted into illicit “flawlessness”
And I would have digressed
But, I became stronger
When she yelled at my infantile stance
Hunchback of forbidden damns
Burying our luminescent memories
In fear’s corrupted sands
My vulnerable love
Now life sentenced
She turned my open arms
Into vindicated assault rifles
As she cocked the clip
Of my abused remnants
Oh, how your abandoned grace
Blessed my broken rosaries
With silent goodbyes
Yet, here on bent knee
I still cry
I still cry
…
For the return
Of your identity
All of your eloquent mistakes
As your altered ego
Strokes the girth
Of fear’s liability
And I dare you to push back against
My scarred & humbled smile
I do not fear you today
I do not fear you tonight
I will not fear you tomorrow
No matter the weight of my sorrow
For my poignant love
Will always shine brighter
Than your poisoned fear
Of my tattered innocence
©D.J.E.
Well, my bosses up above me
are always pushing, trying to shove me
into doing twice the work for only half the pay
When 5 o’clock finally comes
and I think this long day is done
they tell me I have to work five more hours today
Because Joe Blow did not show
and I’m the only one who knows
how to push the green button to start this darn machine
While the sweat pours down my back
my bosses munch on their fifth snack
saying how we need to work together as a team
‘Stead of standing here wishing
should be on the creek bank fishing
and tonight I should be out painting this town red
I’m so tired I can hardly drive
and I feel more dead than alive
by eight o’clock I’ll be sleeping alone in my bed
When it comes time for a raise
you know you can be replaced they say
by a blind one-armed squirrel or a half dead baboon
So when I hit the lottery
they won’t see any sign of me
we’ll see if those pencil necks still sing that same tune
But it’s my job and I won’t shirk it
so I’ll get up and go to work it
and hope to retire when I am 90 if only I can
But that don’t stop me from wishing
that I was on the creek bank fishing
with an ice cold bottle of beer in each hand
‘Stead of standing here wishing
I should be on the creek bank fishing
and tonight I should be out painting this town red
I’m so tired I can hardly drive
I feel more dead than alive
by eight o’clock I’ll be sleeping alone in my bed