Long Open Poems
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Two grizzled master sergeants repaired to the NCO Club to cry in their beer.
Their jawing invariably turned to discussing the 'old army' of yesteryear.
They grew up in the 'brown shoe' army and of it they liked to reminisce.
'Twas 'happy hour', beer was cheap and their gripes went a lot like this:
"By gawd! Used to be I could take a kid behind the barracks and kick his ass!
Now, ever' time ya turn around they're buggin' ya fer a three-day pass!"
"Yep, they think they can git away with anything jesh 'cause they're a volunteer!
Ya won't believe what I shaw today! An earring danglin' from a soldier's ear!"
"We ate C-rations in our day without all them fanchy frills they have today.
Today, if a kid don't git schteak and lobster on hish plate there's 'ell to pay!"
"It wassh called a 'mesh hall' in the old army and we ate off'n schteel trays.
Now, it's a 'dinin'' facility' and, yesh, we schlept on cots in open bays!"
"Yesh. Things was so schimple when all we dealt with was mornin' reports.
I'm scared of them computin' things that is invadin' all the army forts!"
"In the old days I'd tell a kid what to do and he wouldn't give me no shass!
In the new army if I chew out mommy's boy he goes schlobberin' to the brass!"
"Now, they make us wear them silly lookin' berets jesh like them blimey Brits!"
"Yesh. I don't know about you but I schtink it's time I called it quits!"
"Yesh. I agree. I schtink it's time to retire and end this miserable career!"
"But jush a minute, old pal. Before happy hour ends lesh have 'nother beer!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
There's simply
No magic in life!
Yeah, there's no
magic password "Open Sesame"
Nor an Aladdin's magic lamp,
There's no Midas touch
Nor any Philosopher's Stone,
There's no crystal ball
No magic wand
No flying carpet
Nor a magic mirror;
There's no magic mantra
Nor an Aesculapius' Staff,
No Atlantis,
No Holy Grail,
No Elixir or Ambrosia,
And, no Heaven or Hell;
There will neither be
A Kingdom of Heaven on earth,
Nor an afterlife Paradise!
Beseech not
the hand of Lady Luck
Nor pin your hopes
on that pot of gold,
Do not embark on a voyage
seeking the Treasure Island,
Nor venture out to find
the fabulous Eldorado.
In the sweat of his face
Man will eat his bread
until into the ground
forever he is laid,
For he is born of dust
And unto dust he'll return!
Frilly lace and white petticoats,
Where did your young summers go?
Long ponytails and climbing trees,
My memories are all of these.
Now a woman stands, where once a child
Ran laughing, to me with open arms.
A woman stands, and smiles at me,
Still grins with impish charms.
Today you walked through my front door.
I saw a woman, not a child.
How proud I am to be your Dad,
But the memories still make me a little sad.
'Cause you don't need me quite so much,
But I'll always remember the soft, little touch
Of your tiny hand upon my unshaved cheek
And the way you say "Daddy" so very sweet.
Copyright Chula Fleming June 1, 1991
Your beginning to ingrain
Your insanity on my brain
Do not drag me down with you
There was nothing I could do
I tried my best to help you friend
And I can't remember when
There was a time I didn't care
I tried to always be there
But you never even took
My advice--you didn't look
At the facts in front of you
Before she left you sad and blue
Trying to warn you that I saw
Running around before
Hanging from a new guys arm
Laying on her cheating charms
Looking like she didn't care
You were waiting for her here
I was hoping you'd be wise
And open up your closed eyes
That couldn't see her doing wrong
You were blind for way to long
Her scheming ways you just blocked out
Now you want to scream and shout
It is finally sinking in
Your true love was full of sin
A lesson learned you wont forget
One that is going to let
You be cautious from now on
No more victim of a con
Some kind of Boccaccio
they open The Book,
borrowing thoughts
and stories from muses,
for it is a tome
in its entirety,
each muse, a Page, unamused,
to be plucked from tomb,
those sepia petals thrown up in the air,
unravel, the yarns like confetti,
land at the feet
of others
weeds and rows of perennials,
who bend like willows
backwards, they watch
unhooded falcons soar up
against the sky,
all shades of colour
the ever-moving clouds
like music, divine,
pull them up as if on strings
threaded through needlepoint
of a sharper mind,
they are carried away, drugged,
making wishes, like dandelions
blowing each the other,
they become - more - storks,
each a story, undone,
sewn and seeded
for the larger Ovid
in exchange for kinder souls
they dangle, each and every one
their spines entitled,
The Decameron
opened up,
lives fluttering,
they are read
as the in-betweens
some Prencipe Galeotto
engaged with Dante’s trust
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Page
stork, stalk
the Decameron
Prencipe Galeotto
Dante
Ovid
This is all about her, that one that is something
different then any of labeled loves
the one you could but didn't
Scared to cheapen the truth of it
You know her, your past present and your hearts
Unfilled hole.
The one who saw you for what made you different
She rough enough to handle a mans innerchild
And will roughhouse with her boys, like wwe diva
She not afraid to wrestle.
The one with determination, and intelligence
soulfull and open to the possibilities
Of spirit in sounds
Down to earth but eloquent
She holds you to Bob Marley
And as free spirited as a moon dance
I miss her curious eyes
And her willingness to give the lost a chance
I miss her cocky drinking mood
That I tthink all her men misunderstood
But I do
But my kind exterior and the truths I denied
Shadowed my aggression and only showed respect
When she needs a man that can remind her she's a
woman
She stays in control but wishes to loose herself
In random moments
I miss you
Form:
Roses are blooming in the parched land
Waters spring up in the dessert sand
Surprise doors open, as new paths form
From loss to inheritance, a divine shift born
In this season of war, wait for the wind
In the mulberry bush, it will begin
Go from behind and surprise your foe
Show up and occupy, let your inheritance grow
For your inheritance in the kingdom awaits
Invite the winds of change, to open up the gates
His sun of favor will surely follow
A new hive for a new tomorrow
So let the roses keep blooming, let the waters flow
For in this season of war, new blessings will grow
With the wind at your back, and the sun on your face
Step into your promise, in this divine place.
Whose voice calls in my dream?
Can it be or is it for Him?
Whose hands reveal the unimaginable*
How evident enough will its effect be possible*
In this RACE, let no patience dribbles me away
An irresistible act of catching away due to divine force
Spurs me to wantng eternal desires
Sooner, all events of the age of grace would end
Other eschatological events will b given regard
Divinely, it's of PRIVILEGE & never a right
All saints would be carried away with Him
Both dead & living will be transformed
Immortalised - whole in spirit, soul & body
Escaping the course of tribulations to come
When ANTI-CHRIST will surface earth to fulfill prophecies
Outside are dogs & sorcerers
Never had they decline His existence
But want immorality - sexually shutup around & love the practice of lie
Forever certain and fire, the will continuously cry
As living being - you get grace for DOOR remains open
Abandoning it is scary to consequence
What may bring shame & prejudice
Fear nothng and this world of vanity
Lose all & have eternity
Thats God's PLAN for man
CARTOON SATIRE
silent ways
so revealing
pursed by
the contemporary
back&forth
innovation
emerging
to interrogate
a validity
of the disparate
& discarded
exhibit
an interest
in the intense
contemplate
& consider
the inanimate
creating
the fanciful
reversing
the anchronostic
in
the incongurous symbols
indictive
of
connotation
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
I remember the smell of beer
going down the back steps
The keg under the dartboard
the men in long sleeves
Being carried by my grandfather
and each uncle one by one
Old Spice and English Lavender
as hugs and kisses were exchanged
The garage door open to the back yard
where music was playing
The bride throwing her bouquet
girls screaming with glee
I was six years old when they married
Eisenhower’s picture in the hall
The smell of the fresh cut grass
and cigarette smoke mixing freely outside
It was the best of all possible times
God and country held us tight
The best of all possible times
—as hope and laughter filled the air
(Family Wedding: June, 1954)