Long Overdrawn Poems
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The hoopla of the Holiday Season has now come and gone.
Cash in the bank to pay for that spree is nigh overdrawn!
Just when I thought I was free from financial strain,
A packet arrived from the IRS hinting that it's tax time again!
I'll bet the feller who wrote the instructions is still grinning,
As we common folk try to figure it out with our brains a-spinning!
My learned wife is smarter than I but she couldn't help me any.
The consarned thing may as well have been written in Afghanistani!
Although the intracacies of the system I don't quite understand,
With my trusty calculator, records and sharpened pencil in hand,
I attack the puzzling task hoping that I can prevail,
Preparing it to their satisfaction, thereby avoiding jail!
Double checking my figures and searching for deductions,
I can find no legal way to come up with any further reductions.
I stare in dismay at the 'taxable income' on line twenty-seven!
Alas, again this year there'll be no manna from heaven!
With astute pencil-whipping, withheld taxes still come up short.
I may have to mortgage the house to send funds with my report!
Another tax year has ended and again they've bled my dry.
As Abe Lincoln said, "It hurts too much to laugh and I'm too old to cry!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
The hoopla of Christmas has come and gone
The checkbook for that spree is overdrawn
Lord, please have mercy on me
I can already foresee
To pay Uncle Sam my dog I must pawn
Outsourcing IRS I can't condone
They linked me up to Sierra Leone
I just could not comprehend
The guy on the other end
It was a nasty discourse on the phone
This year the IRS has bled me dry
May have to mortgage the house to comply
I've searched for more deductions
But find no more reductions
It hurts to laugh and I'm too old to cry
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 6 in Carolyn Devonshire's "Taxing Times" Contest - Feb 2011
As any economist,
or even a half-conscious politician,
or patient parent knows,
We have two types of deficits;
investments and divestments.
Let's call them NegativEnergy One
and NegativEnergy Two,
or, for short,
just ThingOne
sometimes portends darker ThingTwo.
We may choose a short-term deficit budget
to invest in growing a long-term PositivEnergy surplus,
or interdependent profit.
Or we may choose to contribute to a longterm
toxically overdrawn
eternally divesting waste stream,
like burning currency for fuel
or flushing coins down the toilet
or peeing and pooping where we could have eaten
or taken a warm bubbly bath.
ThingOne
can ZeroSum Win-Lose balance,
Or degenerate into
not even ZeroSum Lose-Lose
ThingTwo
predicting further devastated landscapes
and climate pathologies.
Or NegativEnergy One withdrawals
could resiliently resonate
co-arising PositivEnergy co-investments
Not not ZeroSum
Win-Win
for restoring nutritional
nurturing
multigenerationally cooperative Justice,
Peace,
notnot Trust
with YesYes resonant symmetry.
Symmetry
like synergy
It has an uncertain
yet resonant ring to it.
I overinvested again...
The story of my life
Or so it seems
Overinvested
I've overinvested
In my dreams….
Thinking I’d reach the stars
When I can’t break through
The atmosphere of my world
In my friends….
Thinking that they ARE my world
When they are sometimes just islands
Inaccessible to me
In my wisdom….
Thinking I can discern all truth
When I can’t even fathom,
the simple workings
of my own mind
In worthy causes...
Thinking I can save the world
Make a difference
When I need someone
To save the endangered species
Of ME
In love…
I've overinvested in love
Thinking the dividends will pay off
But I’m overdrawn…overdrawn
Unable to cover the costs of loving
When not enough deposits are made
In my personal love account
I've overinvested in my words...
Thinking that with them
I can change perceptions, thoughts, feelings
When I can’t even change
the thought patters and emotional grooves
of those in my sphere of influence
With the little things I write
I've overinvested in people's words...
Thinking they are specially crafted for me
Each one embued with magic and charm
When they are mass produced
In the same factory
Said to others
With the same intensity
I’ve overinvested….In everyone...in everything
But me….
Poor little me...
From me I've withheld
Time
Love
Compassion
I've not invested in ME
The only one I have to live with
Every minute, every hour, of everyday
From now till eternity…
Yes…YES…It’s time to invest in ME!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
See it through for what it is
Don't let sentiment be anything but new
Events fall hand over fist
From mountains of distance with no point of view
Between talking about and having done
There will be a place for you
If the future should come to pass
Y'know, most likely, well I'll be long, long gone
Live suddenly then follow
Though better sense might say stay at home
When certainty becomes all but the rule
There will be a place for you
When you've been pushed
so overdrawn, exposed
You would thank the stars
for a place of your own
How with the salt in your eyes
Will you see me when all of the clouds are gone
'May take the white noise of lies
To recover your poise n' your passion
When certainty becomes all but the rule
And inaction would be the way of a fool
Between making a fuss and pressing on
There will be a place for you
Start the day. In what way
was the cold spring, last wet summer a
global warning, indicator. Says
one commentator on the op-ed page, the
dislocations, wars, famines will tax humanity's
technology, philosophy, even religion's ability
to see past daily survival to
the music in the rock. I've doubted the taboos
one frog among many in the slow-heating beauty
of the world we knew. Aaron's coconut.
Peepers doing well in the heavy rains, wet
with joy. Hawks and crows thrive below the jet
stream, noise, perhaps our fears
are overdrawn, we'll get along, it'll all hold together 10,000 years more,
the Holocaust will never be repeated, lush mountain and sere
desert equally appreciated, baseball
lazily paced summer evenings, the harvest in the fall
a sure thing, and the dying back a blessing come to all.
The hoopla of the Holiday Season has now come and gone.
Cash in the bank to pay for that spree is nigh overdrawn!
Just when I thought I was free of serious financial strain,
A packet arrived from the IRS hintin' that its tax time again!
I'll bet the feller who wrote the instructions is still a-grinnin',
As we common folk try to figger it out with our heads a-spinnin'!
My learned wife is smarter than I but she couldn't help me any.
The consarned thing may as well have been written in Afghanistani!
Although the intricacies of the system I don't quite understand,
With my trusty abacus, records and sharpened pencil in hand,
I attack the puzzlin' task hopin' that I can prevail,
Preparin' it to their satisfaction thereby avoidin' jail!
Double checkin my figgers and searchin' for deductions,
I can find no legal way to come up with further reductions.
I stare in dismay at the 'Taxable Income' on line twenty-seven.
Alas, again this year there'll be no manna from heaven!
Even with astute pencil-whippin', withheld taxes come up short.
I may have to mortgage the house to send funds with my report!
Another tax year has ended and again they have bled me dry!
As Honest Abe once said, "It hurts to much to laugh and I'm too old to cry!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
It was Christmas we were all gathered at the hall, as usual I was alone
with a plate full of food she ushered me to the seat next to hers
she began talking as the snow began to fall, she said she was far from home
she then raised her glass to encourage all to Merry Christmas cheers
who was this woman who I was sure I’d never met
she made me feel at ease at once and I hung on every spoken word
she talked as if she knew me but she was someone I’d not forget
as she spoke my fascination with her grew more absurd
I was amazed at her honesty in sharing her feelings with a stranger
and I was sure my ineptness at communication showed
she brimmed with gratitude and in the room I felt it linger
my stomach fluttered nervously and my curiosity overflowed
she gave me her number and insisted I give her a call
I felt a sudden sadness in my stomach once I knew she was gone
and as I looked about the room I felt my presence getting small
my head heavy with confusion and my emotions overdrawn
as I made my way home I saw the sky was bright with a brilliant star
and pondering its meaning made me smile
for I had received my Christmas wish- he sent me a friend from afar
and she has stayed my best friend for more than just a while.
Granules of recollection rub like salt
Flailing in the fog of seven years ago
Deafened by incessant frog cries
Vines dangling began attaching to each other
Drying river stagnated, slime slippery with algae
Vigorous tree growth stooped in defeat
Muddy river banks fixed my feet, prisoners
Quick sand sapped my energy, ate my memories
Spears of bygone javelin my lungs, make gasp
Emerging from the mist of six years ago
Mountain side incredibly steep left me breathless
Static crinkle hissed between my eardrums
Channels flip changed without my inference
Hard luck hollowing trunks of high altitude
Offered to swallow my past, kindly include present
Flattened cushions of childhood fights , bring distance
Spinning cartwheels into oblivion of five years ago
Faintly flickering home movies startle between grins
Marbled images depict how we were, junctions punctured
Paths deviated, split decisions, moments distilled
Bottles broken, options poured, down the sink
Faltering swell glimmers foaming overdrawn fantasies
Slices rewound reflect fleeting of four years ago
Head barely above, awash in nonsense, victim of tides
Pushed under and pulled above, or is it more apt
the other way 'round, heavy, ocean surrounds drowns
Pencil case zipper obediently conceals, shoved down
Fragmented fragrant shavings of three years ago
Greyed erasers took too much, left the wrong stuff
Coloured stubs refuse to function, shrink upon prompting
Mirror tells me glamour remains against toughest test
High eyebrows, pristine lip lustre of two years ago
Marilyn wink in the blink of camera, busy filtering truth
Tree hugging Boho took over, appealed to populus ideal
Cocaine sand between toasted toes, garland encircling forehead
Currently I'm languishing in roses
bestowed by crown of thorns
* * * * * * * *
I did my time in service to their “gods”
Cold demons dressed in glowing garb
Claiming on an altar they could summon
A living “god” in bread and dinner wine
I prayed and begged forgiveness for my sins
Although so young I didn’t remember them
Prayed for souls who failed to make their case
And lingered in some “purgatory” place
Thus, did I shed the sackcloth and the ashes
Refusing to accept the stain of sins
Allegedly passed on by dear old dad
His bank account it seems still overdrawn
Each says there is but “one true god”
And argue with each other “who is right”
Congregations of spiritual hermits
“knowing” in their hearts that all are wrong