Long Outlived Poems
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The brass remembered every lifted hand. Each touch left another smear of
mistrust. The wine glinted with dark, borrowed reflections. Something
else lay inside the goblet. Each shared sip drew another soul nearby.
Trust arrived before lips touched the cold brass. The goblet asked only
for willing hearts. The wine honoured promises no tongue had spoken.
Brass outlived kingdoms and countless generations. Its clang
lingered after memory surrendered. Sharing the cup carried
unseen vows within. Well beyond the cheers of
celebration. The goblet stayed hollow, yet filled
lives. Its emptiness welcomed still more
faithful hands. The finest vintage
ripened into commitment. The
toast outlived thirst,
becoming enduring
fellowship. The
last drop
disappeared
without
regret.
The
covenant
quietly
stayed among
them. The
brass goblet
gave one final clang!
The wine rang true within opened hearts.
.
The skillet hung near the old wood-burning kitchen stove.
Aside from her family, Mom considered it a special trove.
With that blackened old pan she prepared delicious repasts,
That in my judicious opinion will ne'er be surpassed!
Ah, just to recall the tasty grub stewed up in that old skillet!
How it tingled my taste buds just sliding down my gullet!
The chicken, steaks and chops in that old pan she did fry,
Evoked oohs and aahs and many a contented sigh!
She liberally dolloped lard in the pan 'til she had it just right,
Then concocted stews, soups and fried taters for our delight!
Mom was never concerned about such things as saturated fat,
Or life-threatening cholesterol and such things as that!
I suppose medicos today would have a conniption fit,
If they knew of the dietary sins my Mom did commit.
She must've done something right - her spouse lived past ninety-four.
Her kids outlived the odds, each reaching four score years or more!
Self-anointed wizards deem cast iron skillets detrimental to our health,
But I think they're just peddling new fads to add to their wealth!
My dear spouse uses her old iron skillet most every day.
I feel fit as a banjo regardless of what so-called experts may say!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
wasn't easy or fun,
for me, or my sisters,
or my mother
(a woman who also survived
her own virgin years).
The dramatic thought
of a passionate death
is a delicious illusion
when you are 17
and caught between
child and adult,
and still dependent,
or nakedly independent
and stark
as a scarecrow
in the middle of
your own awkward
cornfield.
I loved the music of Enya
and I would 'Sail Away'
dancing in my room
in the dying evening
when I imagined that David
Bowie would whisk me away
to the middle of his labyrinth
and I would feel extrordinary
passion and be somone
original and worth longing for.
I was still living at home and
unimportant in high school
in a quiet and upscale
suburban neighborhood,
where even drug deals
were as discreet as dog walks
in the moonlight.
I loved 'Legends of the Fall'
and I fantasized that I too
would cut off my long, lustrous hair
like Julia Ormond and then reach
for the pistol and shoot myself,
dying beautiful and shorn.
Then I doubled my years
and I outlived the luxury
of emotional indulgence.
I became responsible for lives
younger and older than my own.
I am not a virgin anymore,
and movies and songs
have beginnings and ends.
I am not in either of those
art forms.
I am an average woman
who loves her mediocre life
and I don't fear or lust
for death.
I am enamored with life.
A Story from My Heart
Kelly was a Red Tabby and a contemplative soul!Elena, my daughter used to put him in her doll buggy and walk him around the house. How he loved those rides!
History. I found Kelly near Chinatown in San Francisco, on a busy street in a teeny garden bed. Noisy cable cars, passing by!
I picked him up and went to apartments, nearby. Nobody was the owner! So I hailed a cab and took him home.
Back then, nobody fretted over cat diseases or wondered, if a cat was neutered
I just brought him home to my Calico, Luvey!
My cats had to be calicos or red tabbies only. My present feine is Irene, also a Calico. Our feral outdoors cat is a Calico.
Luvey accepted Kelly instantaneously, like a part of the family.
They were like sister and brother. We took him to the vet, had him fixed. He died from Kidney disease, he had to be put down.I laid on the floor in the vet lobby and had a tantrum, like a kid! I was so attached to that guy. He was in
misery the last few weeks of his loving life.
The Calico, Luvey, outlived him. Sle got to age 25! That one fell out of a three story window..I found her in the morning. She was limping, that’s all. I
told my fiancé, I wanted her checked out. So, took her in,
The vet showed me..ugh...she cracked her palate, which required surgery, and after that, they could not wake her! I said, “I will come down and wake her!!l”
She was lying, almost dead in the bottom of the cage.
I opened the door and said my magic words ” Mommy is here!” She woke up
She lived to be twenty-five years old! Luvey had a heart attack while being examined for a bad cold. I sat in a room, and talked to that dead cat and sang to her for 45 minutes. Those were precious moments.
May she Rest In Peace! Luvey was a tiny cat. And my first. A boyfriend brought her to me. I said, “I don’t want a cat!!.
Hal said, “give her a try for one night!!
That transformed into 25 awesome years...
Addenda~ A Shining Memory
One Christmas, I walled Kelly down the long hall in our
apartment building...His leash was thick, forest green tinsel!
A most loving companion, beloved by all my neignors.
I still miss him, though decades have flown away!
5/10/2022
With a voice ornamented in ogled tension
you ask me,
like vulnerable flesh queries warm obsession,
Do you mean to love me this way...
on your mouth, a hold of hope I see
to you I say...
Does the sun choose to flare into sapphire atmosphere,
Does the moon decide who's eyes to enchant,
Does a rose ponder its tempt,
Does a man dare his heart relent,
Does a woman wonder whence came her allure and dare,
A heatwave of heartache's swelter swells over your soul
as the outcry of orgulous omens try to defy our survival,
blood drops fall lonesomely from the old body of a lark
a steeple bell broken by the thunder of sorrow in the dark,
gold found burning into rivulets reaching into graveyard rock,
you begin to weep
because the weight of worry waylays your wishes for our eternity,
I surround you with a love shield that shames the arrows of agony
kissing you softly deep,
then I tell you that fate is not our enemy,
don't you understand my Lady...
Sultans cannot buy or sell the feelings we share,
Emperors unable to enforce the silence of our hearts,
rivals are but ridiculous in attempt to dowse our flame,
Time be trite in march against the magic in our care,
the poetry of our purpose will not be censored by cynical marks,
emotions erratic in wrath will not wrest the roots from which our passion came -
J.A.B.
The days of the year has quickly flown by
collecting aspects of serenity in the clouds,
for passing storms to stir the tremulous sky,
and try to make futility multiply in floods.
But from under gloom voice that hilarious cry,
See happier faces more lustrous make you smile.
With friends whose virtuous lives will never die
their beauty transcends the surprise for a while.
Celebrations to come from the nunnery of advents
unlike other days of the year; today is your birthday,
summary of days on peak season, outlived past events,
This rejuvenation of joy gives youthfulness each day?
Enjoy your dreams and the sweet encore of fantasies,
Sizzle with kisses and firelight stars of beautiful optimism,
beyond the grasp of humanity; soulful symphony echoes,
and the sound reaches to the highest temple in heaven.
Gathering the applauses commission from east and west
compliments make the visage of your virtues increase,
With kaleidoscope colours appeared in tears of interest,
where the value of your worth shall never decrease.
Halo skipping up to the sky; the eclipse makes a happy cry,
flames hides all hint of pain and the rain falling frail,
with moonbeam stars swelled bright in the mock eye,
A clear path between faint feelings and the swale.
How do I tell you "I love you",
when all that's left to listen is a cloud?
And the tempest has blown away,
all that our hands built.
How do I get answers to my questions..
The ones pleaded, and prayed, and begged for..
Why you, why me, why now?
How do I reach out my hand,
to a shadow,
that holds no warmth.
Your loveliness, found now only in portraits,
or, perhaps,
from an old recording.
How do I say to you,
who is no longer swayed,
by a cold morning,
noon bright,
nor moon filled night,
that you are loved,
still.
Now bathed in sunlight,
the marble remains so cool....
A few coins adorn your place of rest.
I wish you could spend them all.
In vows you promised to be mine,
in good times and in bad,
for better, for worse,
for richer, for poorer.
But who will be there
to take care of me,
in sickness and in health?
I will hold true the vow,
"to love and honor you
all the days of my life."
Taken now forever,
from your sweet song,
lingering only in pitiful loss.
To toil through life now left,
to visit,
in a garden of stones.
-Dedicated to my father, who outlived two wives.
My Nonna
My Nonna lived to age eighty-six,
and Rosa was her given name.
From Italy, she settled in New York,
and married my dear Nonno, who
from Florence came so long ago.
Nonna, such a kind and gentle soul,
taught me to understand her words.
Although I never could speak it well,
she did convey her thoughts to me
through her native Italian dialect.
She was a seamstress and as such,
designed and made my fancy clothes;
some adorned with her embroidery...
all works of art by her creative hands.
It was she who taught me how to sew.
I still remember her salt and pepper
hair, so long, but wound up in a bun.
Her face that looked a tad older than
she was, from quite a stressful life
in growing up...but as a mother too.
My Nonna did outlive her only son,
who she lost to World War II.
My Nonna outlived my Mom, who
succumbed to cancer at age fifty-five.
To lose two children, way too young...
a double tragedy for her it was.
And so, we bonded closer after that.
I still remember her loving arms
around me, soft but very strong,
and the security I always felt within.
I so much miss her still today...
my loving, caring, sweet, Nonna.
March 3, 2019
Note: Nonna means Grandma in Italian;
Nonno, Grandpa
I woke up to his angry heavy footsteps again
my terrified beating heart is thick, not thin
the steps stop, and I am hoping it is my imagination of course.
But I hear him clear his throat, like a deer or a horse
my eyes pop open, I expect to see my shadow man
He can terrify me faster than almost anyone can
He’s my resident ghost, but what does he want?
I feel the bed go down a bit, and I hear a grunt.
Terrified more than ever, I say “How can I help you?”
He whispers one word. I think it is Stu..
Was this your house? I ask, holding my breath.
He materializes for a second, reminds me of my son Seth.
the bed rises, and I know he is going away.
Wait! Tell me how I can help! I manage to say.
My voice is hoarse, I am feeling scared of course.
“murdered,” he says sadly, his voice is hoarse.
I do some research and find a Stuart Blue.
He lived in this house until 1972.
He died at forty-six, they said suicide.
Now I wonder if his wife had something to hide.
I look her up and she welcomes me in.
She looks enough like my mother to be her twin.
She invites me to tea, but I dare not eat there.
After she tells me she has outlived Stu, Stan, Henry and Bear.
I found Stu's French Shriner dress shoes in my attic yesterday.
I told him about his wife, that she did not live far away.
Found out later that she passed away that very night.
Wonder is she saw Stu's ghost and died of fright?
UNFINISHED
These streets mistreat
one hundred degrees in the heat
rode past said a prayer
lying on the pavement
was the new wretched
of the earth, so caste down
nothing left but death.
All them with nowhere to be.
Not allowed at bus-stops
or on park bench.
Emergency room huh no care zone
not even Obama care.
No walking on pavement
while impoverished.
no urgent pooping or walking
on grass. No soliciting tissue
to wipe their derriere – No water
no roof- no soil...
100 degrees on the cement.
Most alone -Few with someone
Lying on bare ground –
Mate stretched out
on her back-
She in an odious state
White woman, with black man
He tenderly rubbing her like a favorite pet.
Let’s not speak of the stench, that foul air that attacks
nostrils and eyes. Not even soap.
Could quell the smell.
People cross to the other-side.
dare not bear witness to the offensive odors.
No air, nor breeze gives relief, not one clean breath or inhalation,
Hot pavement and stale air make you heave on these
Streets.
Mistreatment of those detested, barely they breathe.
as they reached their safe haven, in front of that building.
A shelter that’s reached capacity, no entrance.
God forbidden streets, continue to mistreat, no loitering.
Passer byes making the sign of the cross, as they cross the street.
Uttering “but for the grace of God there go I”
Seems like Mockery and blaspheme.
Do those outstretched not also deserve God’s grace?
The righteous strut past hurriedly,
without concern of Karma.
Feeling better than the least of them.
Wonder why their being punished.
Mental illness, grandchildren
abandoned to the system.
War veterans, Prison release,
Outlived their children.
Bloated Bellies eat…
Fancy scraps from high places –
nowhere to alleviate.
Good deeds written off on restaurant tax forms…
but can’t use their facilities.
Devour and swallow without tasting,
Chewing without teeth.
The righteous strut past hurriedly, without concern of
Karma.