Long Sewers Poems
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At first, only a few droplets
fall from the clouds to quench the heat.
And like drips of perspiration:
splashes start to freckle the street.
What begins as a light sprinkle:
morphs into a raging downpour.
And water pools at drainage grates,
flooded sewers: can take no more.
Lightning bolts splinter charcoal skies,
as thunderclaps, make the earth quake.
And the wind howls like a banshee:
garbage cans, toppling in its wake.
City roads, with cement sidewalks,
cannot function as a blotter.
And islands begin to appear:
awash in a flood of water.
As the receding storm passes,
raindrops dwindle to just a few.
And when the wind starts to calm down,
scattered clouds reveal skies of blue.
I had an epiphany
While reading Spring and All.
Why do I make poetry?
Is it a certain call?
A call from my mind that needs release?
A call to improve a skill?
A call to write one good entry
To be famous in the next century?
To have students analyse and criticise
The backbone of my mind
that I could never write into short stories.
I contemplated the pleasure of the hand or the pen.
The latter was chosen
Socrates would be elated.
A question came to me
One I would ask William Carlos William.
Art holds imagination in captivity?
Imagination doesn't captain the ship of art?
Is art rather full of imagination that it can never escape it?
Would Duchamp agree
Or is this what he means?
Let art not be creative for once but confusing
but plain
but unimaginative
but charmless
(Is this why Williams always rambles about plagiarism?)
So many questions left unanswered
for the dead I mentioned.
They will stay hidden in this book
On this page
and washed out of my dirty hair
Down the drain
Into the sewers
and possibly out into the sea
or Wherever the drain leads.
From the morning papers
We read the woman, a former actress
who stole a prince and was hated by the kingdom
is a duchess selling jam and pottery
Her husband, the prince, looks bewildered
We also notice the woman who was
prime minister, for a very short time found
crawling things on the carpet, given
its former occupant, this was not surprising
The woman with her short reign has
written a book, in the hope of being regarded
as something more than a misses Bean
laying her awkward talent bare in The USA
My view
is that homegrown failures
should not be exported or bought up like
water, to foreign investors
as rivers and lakes belong to the people
to swim and drown without
interference from speculatants who
muddy the water and turn it into sewers
sometimes you gotta go through the sewers to reach the ocean,
to free the mind of rotten folk going on your lonesome,
shrugging off all what reeks and slowly bleeds your motion,
believing inside though the outside lives a world so loathsome.
Don't feel paralysed because you're not in paradise,
in life you hold the cards and you roll the dice,
and this means you're the peas and you are the rice,
grow through the rough times to glow through the nice.
If you know happiness then you do know trouble,
and you know the victory following the struggle
you know to go again even though you buckle,
climbing when in pain digging through the rubble.
Heeding all your errors an act strong and open
believing that the hope you hold's never lost or gone
wading through waste until pipes become beyond
travel to the beach of life where pipes end in the ocean
sometimes you gotta go through the sewers to reach the ocean
numb grinding confused in fright forever keeping motion
reaching for the destination to rebuild a life that's broken
life's a beach that's reachable through sewers and the ocean
Every four years and it seems that every year in between,
Politicians prey upon the masses venting their usual spleen,
Promising this and promising that saying they will deliver!
The scatological babble flows like a flooding tidewater river!
Candidates and their pals prowl about the nation to promote,
Anything they think we ought to hear, anything to get our vote!
They vow to build a local dam and provide universal medical care,
Lower the national debt and clean up the smog polluted air!
They promise never to raise taxes, looking us dead in the eye.
We've heard that one before - they'll increase 'em bye and bye!
When they proclaim, "I have a plan!" we become very suspicious.
They expound on grand schemes - most of which turn out to be fictitious!
Farmers are assured they'll get top prices for beef, corn and wheat,
While promising consumers they'll pay less for what they eat!
They promise new roads, bridges, sewers, schools and such,
But once in office they seem so remote and out of touch!
Regardless of their party affiliation, politicians are all the same.
When things go awry, they take no responsibility nor any blame.
And when at last that exalted office they at last attain,
Alas, it seems all those great promises were made to us in vain!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
He slept in the bath when he was drunk
Slept so long he went and shrunk
Down down down to such a size
He couldn’t be seen by human eyes
His wife saw the bath and with a shrug
Slipped in one arm and pulled the plug
She didn’t do it with any intent
But down the drain he silently went
He’d never ever learned to swim
So that was the last she saw of him
Gone for ever that unhappy soul
Swept out to sea down a plug hole
After a while she married his friend
So for her his story had a happy end
There’s a moral to his end if you think
Be careful when and where you drink
Or you could meet such a bad end
Down the plug and round the bend
Through the sewers on a bumpy ride
Then out to sea on the rising tide
Maybe to provide a succulent dish
For a shoal of hungry hunting fish
Perhaps the the irony of such a lost life
Served with peas and chips to your ex-wife.
Before it’s too late
Distant bells clatter on cloud fed weathered skies where
darkness creeps past low light vestibules, faded beams flicker
Short skirts wave in a winter wind, breezy attributes
revealing fishnet thighs calling to the next hidden passenger,
batting lashes and blowing bubbles of stale gum placed under
crushed velvet seats worn in places, stained deliberately
for bragging rights and handkerchief blotting
A ghostly mist lingers as lips are touched up, bright red, crimson,
shades of desire, occupational decisions, advertisements leaking
into sewers and hopscotch squares spread along the avenue
Silhouettes in porch lanterns, whistling…so unladylike, ducking
constables with nightsticks swinging like the clapper in those damn bells
waking the unsuspecting and spooking the transients offering
a few coins for a ten dollar dream
Swine wallows in last week’s gossip, slimy little beings
fat on sausage and biscuits, cursing the rats pushing their way in
below curtains and kitchen windows framing inquisitive eyes,
watching cash change hands and satisfied smirks
on the faces of those wiping feet on mats,
greeting the family in disguise, shirt un-tucked,
long day rewards and dinner on the table
Yesterday’s newspaper tumbles down the walk,
clinging to sign posts, featuring headlines of death, a warning in bold print,
still at large, a menace to society in a grey overcoat,
double breasted and fancy shoeprints in the fresh mud
No further traces except the body, contorted and frozen, smeared faces
littering cobblestone gutters, frightening children and pets,
as passersby look to second floor balconies, oblivious
Midnight calls, staggering drunkards exit Chauncey’s,
hard up and spent, slurred laughter, boisterous to hide worries
and tomorrow’s jobs, time clock lies and penciled in wishes
Iron fence posts rust at the gateway as they glance to the headstones
of friends long past and recent memories, sensing the urge,
seeing the painted nails and low cut blouses, thinking…
before it’s too late
While from a secluded archway…
I hunger for crumbs that others discard
As I crawl through the sewers whose treasures I guard
I'm silent and deafening as on nightmares I creep
At the mountains of madness is where I find sleep.
Today's a good day, I might give you a wink
As you shudder and hurry away from my stink
And that's when the voices and longings increase
At the mountains of madness I find me some peace.
Don't worry, you can't catch what's eating my soul
No more than some pills and a shrink make me whole
I've pleaded and begged that I'd die or be healed
At the mountains of madness is where I have kneeled.
The voices are louder and I'm shrinking in size
I'm screaming for help but It swallows my cries
I want it to end but I'm tired and I'm stumped
At the mountains of madness, I finally jumped.
Date: 2016
Putin said he wouldn't invade, but then he's known for his lies
So when he sent in his murdering scum, it came as no surprise
It will go down in the annals of history, as Putin's great blunder
And if anything it's united Ukraine, and not tore it asunder.
American President Joe Biden has now found a way
To make that despicable war criminal, Vlad Putin pay
To Ukraine he's sending lethal predator, and reaper drones
That will help to build stocks of dog food, of Russian bones.
Russian soldiers are not human from what we have seen
You've read and seen the evidence, so you know what I mean
They're gutless and have yellow streaks all down their backs
And scurry down to the sewers when Ukraine counter attacks.
Russians fire from a distance and let their lethal missiles fly
At hospitals, nurseries and any innocent civilians passing by
They only kill unarmed men, women and children, who pose no threat
But Russia, the civilised world is watching and we will not forget.
Red flags are what the Russians are using, to justify a crime
But the world is not stupid and it can see through the grime
A Russian town on the border was shelled so they could blame Ukraine
Then used it as an excuse to inflict, more misery and pain.
Every Despot who commits war crimes will always pay the price
Putin the war dog will be put down, Ukraine will not think twice
He'll have to surround himself with thugs and be lucky every day
But an avenger will only have to strike lucky once, to make Putin pay.
No tears were shed when he lost his flagship, in the black sea
It is one lethal weapon less to use, against that war torn country
The west thought sanctions alone would bring this war to an end
But it hasn't really worked, so more arms the west must send.
The battle for the Eastern Donbas region is well underway
And for those brave Ukrainian defenders, we must all pray
They're fighting to defend their freedom and sovereignty
But only military aid from the West will ensure their victory.
The horrific scenes we've seen on the news of towns reduced to rubble
Are because Putin knows he's not winning and that he's in trouble
At his forthcoming military parade, he's hoping to announce a victory
But if he was an honest man he'd tell his country, that he's failed miserably.
Written on 20th April 2022
("Creation Myth - Anthropomorphic Nebula Merit Badge” #65, 2016, original oil)
Rumors of War
War, war, rumors of war,
Whispered on the winds
Screamed from the rooftops.
Who does it benefit,
What is it good for?
I can tell you this as someone
Who has known it in a million lifetimes
Hand to hand, across trenches,
Behind ramparts and within
Tanks and Hellfire missiles,
It’s not the soldiers, or generals
Nor even their countries
Who ever come out on top.
It is simply humanity
Willing to sacrifice one band for another
So the germ can spread,
Steeled in conflict, hardened by fire
Purified in the sacrifice
Like a virgin on the crest
Of a mighty pyramid.
And when it comes to us
Where will we be?
Cheering in the crowd
Or running for the hills,
Or perhaps hiding in the sewers
Laying low
Waiting for the perfect shot.
(11/27/24)