Long Scurried Poems
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by Bob Moore (c) 2/4/2020)
The world was collapsing, and we ran away
to hide in our homes, both night and day
forsake our friends, and family too
when we were ordered, and told what to do
no choice, or question, just do this when
we were told, not by gods but by men
they have left the field, their banners furled
and we scurried away, and at home we curled
no call to arms, no battle cry,
social distance, or you will die
no talk, no question, just do what your told
and denigrate anyone who acts too bold
to not believe will be a sin
we will open the jails, and throw you in
we know best, and we’ll have our way
but you’re the one who will have to pay
and in the end, when the virus has gone
they will pat their backs, and say “well done”
but what they have accomplished we will see
is a devastated land, once rich and free
this has happened to mankind before
pestilence, famine, destruction and war
but the human spirit has not been cowed
as we are now, just a milling crowd
no one is sure what to do or say
directions changing every day
the old may die, and the young carry on
but the world is still here though we are gone
now when this ends, and we know it will
if I was wrong, and I’m not here still
then sit by my grave, say “I told you so”
but I will not hear you, so I will not know
Yond odd orb apared asp cruised crawl
'f hurled hymns hoisted sanity sprawl;
'f cherubic sways marred mercies crave -
t' savor sumptuous stray sanct'ty sprayed.
Ah! Wanky winds bore sewn syll'bles -
furred fabrics meshed b' tide's lips dribbled.
Quav'ring quake teased apt awe - ruined rage;
cramped Cynthia cum azure 'neath raved.
"Seekest what you, ho!", fabrics rent.
Scurried for agora - paunch spelled,
asp basked 'n awe mocked hampered haste's rage;
quiv'ring quotient quoth bruised ire rained.
B' sassy sulphur writ 'n th' Rex visage,
baked was apared asp - mission mazed.
'20:07:19:09:47
Note:
a) Of inky intrusion.
b) Written apace with Middle English lexis:
i) Yond - beyond
ii) Apar - armadillo
iii) Asp - snake
iv) Cynthia - moon
v) Azure - unclouded sky
vi) Paunch - stomach
vii) Quoth - said
viii) Ire - anger
ix) Writ - written
x) Rex - King
xi) Visage - face
c) The following are used with no syllabic consequences:
i) 'f - if
ii) t - to
iii) b' - by
iv) 'neath - beneath
v) 'n - in
vi) b' - by
vii) 'n - in
viii) th' - the
d) Poet's vocabulary:
i) Ah - Behold
ii) Ho - Tell me.
I suppose in every neighborhood there is bound to be,
An old grouch who with everything tends to disagree.
It matters not whether it happens to be a her or him;
He or she will zoom into orbit at the slightest whim!
The neighbor's pooch performed an indiscretion upon his lawn.
With that a figurative line in the sand was severely drawn.
Said he, "If again over that fence your scruffy cur hops,
Me and you will have a little chat with the local cops!"
A car flew down the street like a bat out of you know where.
All the old grouch could do was shake his fist and swear!
A kid with his boom-box on max drove him out of his mind.
The grouch told him to cool it or he'd kick his scrawny behind!
The old crab was kept awake all night by packs of barking mutts.
The sheriff he will call tomorrow, no ifs, ands or buts!
When the neighbor kids trampled all over his blooming flowers,
They scurried home to mommy as a result of his fiendish glowers!
The old curmudgeon has had many acrimonious conversations,
As upon the neighbors he has expressed his manifold frustrations!
The old grouser will undoubtedly start a heated debate,
When attempting to enter Saint Peter's Golden Gate!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Condolences Forever Invoked - 9/11/2001
Many unsuspecting innocent lives
unwittingly found themselves
at ground zero
with absolutely no time
to bid loved ones adieu,
and thus with
a metaphorically clangorous
(aire splitting din – bedlam askew
n'er to be silenced),
aye felt near ready,
viz no haw wing,
nor hem ming – waze
farewell call to peace monger...
and arm Matthew
nine one one when
clear out of the blue
a resounding handy
dandy bell lose clue
asper, a fitting notion pain
fully apropos to applaud motley crue
i.e. strangers risk
king life and limb,
would definitely do,
no matter where persons
stationed come thee
ex-tolling bells morrow,
(whence thee fateful
seventeenth anniversary
twill dolefully arrive -
somberly dawning for
survivors and/or next of kin -
less than twenty four
hours from now),
sans unforgettable tragedy
indelibly etched will be recalled
in a blinding
fiery stormy flashback,
where significant lost lives will replay,
when weaponized airplanes
took a kamikaze nose dive
a dwindling cadre,
qua first line of defense,
emergency civilian and/or military
trained personnel jumped
into the blizzard decimated fray,
whereat selfless persons
scurried (helter skelter like)
all abustle analogous
to a outsize bee hive
where 24/7 news
broad casters did air
(nee blast) round
the clock latest bulletins,
could not escape incessant blare
ring frozen like a
life size like sculpture
seated in favorite easy chair
hypnotized by the sheer colossal
utterly incomprehensible dare
devilish a state of emergency,
the then president
(George Walker Bush) did declare
dumb founded, slack jawed,
and wicked deed
waiting for horror
to be recanted as an err
roar overloaded sensory circuits
exceeded threshold,
nonetheless listeners and/or
viewers forced themselves to hear
live coverage far more appalling
than any night mare.
Some girls said they saw me on the eleven o'clock news
as I ran down a street wearing only socks and tennis shoes.
It was back in 1974 in the early spring.
So many of my friends were doing the same thing.
People must have been thinking I was a naked clown
when I swiftly scurried through the better side of town.
A few girls whistled as they saw my nudity.
I said to them: "Why don't you come and join me?"
Two of them showed me they had nothing to hide.
When they heard my words, they quickly complied.
They were both naked as jaybirds running by my side.
I felt brave, and kept my composure
until the police arrested me for indecent exposure.
The arresting police officer gave me a stern warning.
He said I had to appear before the judge in the morning.
The judge was lenient towards my naked foray.
She gave me a small twenty dollar fine to pay.
She laces this dark late winter's evening
with white manna grace,
flowing flying frosting
folding in and over and around
dark naked tree limbs
Dressed up and out
under ice limned networks
down in-flowing rivers
emptying onto cold cover
of frozen lace-flake
shivering shimmering
sad season
Hovers over what had been
pedestrian front predation lawn,
now transforming and mesmerizing
ecstatic ice crystals
Twinkle in response
as their ice-flame children
follow in post solstice pilgrim path
to die their individuality
within this here-now scurried view.
I smile, perhaps flirtatiously,
within shy winter's virgin dream,
a stubborn storm of snow
softly settling
quieter than white noise still
so so civilly right,
a silent black then white
bright moving set
frames a roundly wonderful life.
S/he is not smiling back;
I know that
But I feel this cold embrace
teasing tickling of too-perfect beauty,
hope imagining S/he could sleep
within heaven's blanket
Dream down Her winter's rain
for deep composting thirst
to drink through walls of hibernating glad
brewing spring's warmest winding offer.
This could go on all night
free of freezing fright
This reverse stalking
inside window peeper out
across front and back porches
Glazing Gaia's grace
elational transfiguration,
silent musing ecodrama
shows off Her magic show
for those with ears to see
through silent first snow
of momentous perennial occasion
Falling just in time
to brighten this sad day for dreams
of Beloved black in white Communions
spreading EarthMother's silent storm
Of love,
impossible to ever sleep
deep same again
Unlikely to become unlover,
to uncover
supremely white slippery cover.
Such elegant purgation grace!
I would dishonor Her
to break such silent sleep
within surrender's coldly storming space.
My heart sings on this lazy summer night at the amazing beauty of the
moonlight illuminating the Chesapeake Bay,
making a solemn pronouncement of it to be magical and mystical.
From the comfort of my screened porch, I am at ease in my padded chase
watching this magnificent adoration between the moon and
the Chesapeake Bay.
But I am not alone in my empirical study of the admiration between
the moon and the bay.
For the beauty of the two fathers moods.
The fireflies move swiftly through the night winking their approval.
So encourage by the magic, a Loon calls out to his mate to come sit
beside him to share in this spellbinding view.
The frogs croak out a sonata to help define the moment.
Happy for the moonlight the populace of fishes nibbles at the bugs
that surf the surface.
The age old owl sits on a limb to mesmerize to realize that he missed
the meal of a small country mouse who scurried by.
My skin is a glittering onyx under the moonglow, and my hair, thick as
the Congo jungle is dampened by the misty and salty breeze that is sent
my way from the bay.
There is nothing so exquisite and provocative as the moonlight and the Chesapeake Bay.
In the envelopment of sweet tranquility, I fell into a daydream.
copyright 2017 Looking At The Light From The Bottom Of The Lake
Tonight, the dark sky again
only slept a short while;
no longer eager to cheat
its sun’s awakening joy
over the horizon’s realm;
Bulky white yawning clouds
hovered over the night-shaded
ground below as small nocturnal
creatures seemingly scurried into
and out of the dawning day;
A dawning day during which
we shall seek to see justice
and peace become realities
in a world wrought with chilled
fear and misery:
May new spreading sunshine
sweeps away waning darkness of winter as
flowering hope again welcomes a new spring
toward resurrected liberation and equity:-
I put on pajamas.
Before bed.
The curse and everything that goes with it.
Something happened.
I think I dropped my meds on the floor.
It was dark, and the lights were spinning, but there were no lights.
I could sleep on the couch.
They never used to let me.
I think the couch wants to kill me.
The couch laughs.
I live alone.
Before bed.
I remind myself.
Before bed.
I live alone.
I get emotional at this time of night.
Maybe a couple pills scurried away.
I have to go to bed.
Some of the lights are on.
I don’t know.
Some of the lights…
I get up and turn them off again.
Route 67 may not conjure up the romanticism of famed Route 66,
Nor does it wend its way across the country or provide you any kicks.
'Tis just a winding mountain road running from Divide to Cripple Creek,
But the splendid vistas that it reveals is what makes it so unique!
Route 67 is eighteen miles of God's glorious Creation to behold!
Aspen trees grace the mountainsides with quaking leaves of gold!
Majestic Pikes Peak glistens with new-fallen snow upon its crest.
The saw-toothed San Juan Mountains reach for the sky to the west.
Old gold mine shafts are strewn about, reminders of shattered dreams.
Seen are tumbling waterfalls and rushing mountain streams.
Eagles soar high above it all on their never-ending quest,
To sate the gaping maws of eaglets in their nest.
A flock of geese land with great aplomb on a nearby tarn to feed.
Silhouetted against the sky are mountain sheep, a very rare sight indeed!
A magnificent elk stood in a grove of spruce, bugling for a mate.
Marmots scurried about gathering winter fare ere it was too late.
Upon arrival in Cripple Creek, I decided to have a little fun.
The slot machines beckoned me and I'm usually a lucky son-of-a-gun!
I fed coins into the slots so furiously that I feared that they would choke!
'Twas a pleasant drive home on Route 67, albeit, I was nearly broke!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)