Long Retired Poems
Long Retired Poems. Below are the most popular long Retired by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Retired poems by poem length and keyword.
Alas, the famed Red Baron bit the dust.
His last flight in his Fokker was a bust.
Some thought Snoopy shot him down,
But t'was a dude named Roy Brown,
Leaving Charlie Brown and his friends nonplussed!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
NOTE: There is controversy to this very day about who and how the
Red Baron actually died. Canadian pilot Roy Brown claimed he shot
him down but there is some evidence that he may have been hit by a
rifleman from the ground. Here's hoping this will keep you awake at
night worrying about it!!!
Ah! To be adrift upon the boundless sea sailing, sailing, sailing!
Alone with sea and pristine sky with southerly winds prevailing.
No particular destination in mind as upon the surging sea I plod,
Nor is there another soul in view as I quietly commune with God!
Ah! To be alone at night in the desert pondering, pondering, pondering!
I lie to refresh my weary bones after a day of vagabond wandering.
Savoring the soothing quietude with gentle zephyrs caressing my face,
Gazing heavenward as constellations wink at me from outer space!
Ah! To scale the highest mountain where even eagles dare not fly!
The precious solitude of it all! I can reach out and touch the sky!
Such divine inspiration it brings to this mere mortal's languid soul,
As God's Creation beyond is revealed for me to relish and extol!
Ah! To amble down a forest path when autumn leaves adorn the trees!
Gold and crimson leaves waft about me, stirred by an occasional breeze!
I'm awed by The Master Artist's handiwork no mere artist dare portray.
This priceless solitude and beauty I shall treasure forever and a day!
Ah! To lie 'neath a shade nigh a rippling stream and dream, dream, dream!
Watching vagabond clouds scudding across the sky is solitude supreme!
I suppose that there are many folks who prefer mingling with the multitude,
But I treasure time alone to dream, write and muse in peaceful solitude!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
It's ten weeks now since that fateful day when I tripped in a hole
and my life went array..
I'm finally on my feet and walking again, reflecting on those angels,
the help they did lend..
I wouldn't have been able in my home to stay, if it wasn't for a
wheel chair loan from St. John's Way..
This church based charity named after member John, who passed
away at nineteen years, yet his legacy lives on..
John had special needs and an affinity toward the aged, now the
church parishioners offer this mission in his name..
They came Easter weekend with out any hesitation and brought a
brand new wheel chair, only suggesting a donation..
I've recently utilized the Blair Senior Bus which will transport to
medicals, groceries, and such. Their retired drivers have that T.L.C. touch.
Meals on Wheels, another blessed winner when I was unable to stand
long enough to prepare my dinner..
These volunteers deliver five nutritional meals, until one's feeling better
and their body heals..
Last but not least, since my recent fall, I've had two wonderful care assistants
from the agency Griswald. They carried in my groceries from the store, emptied my trash and vacuumed my floors.
Of course family and friends also chipped in, but it's the kindness of these
total strangers that I'll remember in the end..
Hank had cowboyed on the Triple T Ranch fer nigh on fifty years.
He'd rode the range herdin' beef peerin' betwixt his hoss's ears.
Durin' cattle stampedes he'd broke bones and many a time was throwed,
And he'd been astraddle his saddle so long that his legs was stiffly bowed!
He loved the cowpokin' life but he didn't become rich by any means.
He'd even come to savor Cooky's usual grub of bacon, taters and beans.
Durin' brandin' time he roped and branded many a steer's scruffy hide.
He was a master with the brandin' arn and he wielded it with skillful pride!
He liked lollin' 'round the campfire a-jawin' with pards beneath the stars,
Sippin' java that smelled like old socks, smokin' roll-yer-owns and ceegars.
He pulled many a nighttime guard duty in sleet, snow and peltin' rain,
Blowin' on his harmonica to calm skittish herds which was quite a strain!
He'll miss huddlin' 'round the bunkhouse stove as storms blew driftin' snow,
While he and his pals listened to Tex sawin' away with his fiddle and bow.
Hank hung up his scruffy boots, tattered chaps and sweat-stained hat.
He'd already given away his well-worn saddle and his 44 caliber gat.
This was Hank's last roundup herdin' cattle to Abilene up the dusty trail,
Cussin' and sweatin' to get 'em loaded up to ship on the Chicago rail.
He stopped by fer a few snorts with the boys at the Long Branch cabaret,
Then cantered off into the sunset on Old Dan his trusty hoss, callin' it a day!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
I can see us now, sitting out back under the fruitless mulberry tree. Whether sitting side by side in lawn or rocking chairs, we are talking, smiling, and occasionally, holding hands.
Our three children are fine and so are the six grand kids. We are grateful to the Lord for their health and general welfare. We did something right, because all three are out and on their own. Hooray! They are emancipated!
Many were the days and years of our lives, with both the joys and the sorrows. But we are here now, both happily retired. Forty years married and together still, no excuses, no regrets.
On the patio or under the canopy, a bird stops by and sings a quick tune and flies away. A squirrel or two climbs from the tree, and hurries across the yard in search of fresh nuts or some other seeds. Peaches and tomatoes, we all get along just fine, not watching the world pass us by, just birds and squirrels instead.
During swell with a minor ache or pain here and there. But not to worry, not much for which to be sorry, and no need to hurry. God has always been good and faithful.
My wife strikes up with an acapella chorus of “He Touched Me”, followed by another favorite of “In His Time”. Yes, we rejoice, because He is still touching us and making all things beautiful, in His time.
We speak of times, people, places, and events; some recent and others of the distant past. Like when and where we met. Like our beloved pastor who joined us in Holy matrimony. And yes, like the long drive through the night from Chicago to our honeymoon site in North Western Wisconsin.
Moreover, I get romantic and begin to speak of her smile, a head turning and beautiful heart catching smile. The smile that swept me away, compelling a stoic and shy young man of 20 like me to confidently say, “Hello”.
We trust that we are wiser now than we were back then and back there. Clearly, there is no doubt that we are grateful to be growing old together.
cj12282012PS
I hasten to say,
It's been longer than yesterday.
A time of less talk about pains;
A youthful time of haste and gains.
It wasn't right; it wasn't wrong.
For a pleasant season, all must belong
And feel at home with being young.
But all seasons end, and new ones begin.
I no longer dream of travelling.
I'm 'at home' with being at home.
I'm retired with lots of energy.
I'm busy, but no,, I'm not tired.
Some seasons go long, and we often prolong
Because we are sometimes not that strong
Like the wind, change will always come
Like the wind, gusts will break forth
Fear not the change because it's a must
It is like the wind kicking up the dust
And do not fear the gusts which come
And go so quickly and can never bind us
On the horizon our sleepy sun now slowly sinks
Painting the skyline in swirls of lilacs, oranges and pinks
The suns smile has faded and night draws in
I snuggle in my jumper and warm my cooling skin
Crepuscular birds sing their sweet nocturnal song
I could listen to their chirruping all evening long
In my garden some flowers have retired for the night
They bow their sleepy heads and fold their petals tight
An old owl sits silently in the gnarled oak tree
Seeking out some rodents to eat for his tea
Streetlights start to flicker and creepy shadows form
Time to draw the curtains and rest until the break of dawn
Contest Twilight
Sponsor Nayda Ivette Negron
09~22~16
The other day I sat beneath a sycamore tree on the court house lawn.
Old Glory fluttered in the breeze and to my eyes it was drawn.
It was tattered and frayed, I assumed, by the storms of many seasons,
But as I mused upon its state, could it have been caused by other reasons?
After all, it saw action in the Revolutionary War to create a new nation,
And suffered shot and shell in The War of 1812 ending foreign domination.
It flew over the Alamo and was drenched by the blood of courageous squads,
Who sacrificed their lives for independence, aware that they were against all odds.
Old Glory was unfurled for action in the Civil War in many a furious battle,
Mutilated by cannon fire and time and time again by the muskets rattle.
It was ripped by rifle fire as the Rough Riders charged up San Juan Hill.
To look upon it at their front must have given the Riders a comforting thrill!
It was torn asunder in the bloody trenches of France in World War One.
Though battered and torn it was held high at the battles cease for laurels won!
As its charred remnants were hoisted over Iwo Jima's blood soaked strand,
It unfurled to the cheers and tears of brave men who took a gallant stand!
Though the Korean and Vietnam conflicts and subsequent Desert Affair,
Took their toll on the old flag, it yet waves majestically with dignity and flair.
Though it has been spit upon and trampled on it still remains unfurled,
As a symbol of hope and a beacon of light for humankind about the world!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
We are a married couple
Loving the married life.
We’ve had our share of kids,
And we share a wonderful life.
We are older than you think,
And younger than you feel.
Tabitha is such a great cook
I have never missed a meal.
Now that we’re both retired,
and we take care of family to.
We are really enjoying life,
with a few house chores to do.
I love my wonderful wife
for she is trouble enough,
she takes her time with me
because...
I don’t like it rough.
We live in a nice house
we have her own cars to.
Tabitha likes helps me
write poetry
When she has a mind too.
We write poetry
from our own point of view,
if you take your time
and add a bit of heart ,
you can write poetry to.
Soldier,
age 23,
interest in veterinary science.
Shot
back of the head.
Political affiliation
never mattered.
Lies still in an open casket,
draped over with an American flag.
How patriotic.
How patronizing.
Lover,
left of mother, right of father.
Me, observer,
bearing flowers.
Priest, front and center,
babbling on, reading
the same old retired lines,
dust to dust,
ash to ash,
and the like.
Bagpipes play.
Twenty-one gun salute rings out,
echoing in the hollow hearts
of family members.
I drop the newspaper containing
the boy’s obituary.
Can’t remember why I came,
wanted to pay respects.
The best thing a brother can do
is leave roses,
wilting like the paper beneath
my feet,
crumpling like his mother
on her knees now, crying.
I begin to cry, too.
Not for the boy,
more for the people who knew him.
Good man.
Too young.
Wanted to help animals.
Animals are probably locked in a cage
somewhere, yowling the same way
the ravens perched and pecking
at the ground are.
They are hungry for flesh,
the same way the dirt is,
the same way old men
who start wars are.
Nobody needs to die,
foolish, worthless, unnecessary.
The reward for a life well lived
seems to be a gravestone
with your name written on it
in a margin far too small
to capture the complexity
of what you stood
and now lie for.
What will they do
when there is nobody left to kill?
Weep?
As if they could.
The next time God floods the world,
it will be with the tears of the lonely,
and the vermin who made them feel
that way in the first place
will drown.
Angel flies overhead,
wearing uniform.
Hope lives on
even when the goodness
cannot.
Hope lives on
even when the goodness
cannot.
Believe that.
Please.
I know I will,
at least I will after I’ve finished
crying.