Long Stalls Poems
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Nothing stirs the languid souls of folks like a hometown parade.
Friends and neighbors uniting to form a colorful cavalcade.
Any special occasion will do such as Veterans or Independence Day,
To uproariously celebrate and put on a spectacular display!
The parade is led off by aging vets proudly carrying Old Glory,
Stepping lively despite expanded girths and looking rather hoary.
The mayor is next in a flashy convertible exuding all of his charms,
Grinning inanely and greeting folks with his out-stretched arms!
The local high school band marches slightly out of step,
And playing a bit off-key but tooting with mighty pep!
The equestrian saddle club prances by in well-formed troops,
Followed closely by a couple of clowns wielding clean-up scoops!
Anxious moms herd a troop of Brownies so small and so cute.
Here comes the Hometown Queen - isn't she a charming beaut!
Vintage cars and John Deere tractors put on quite a show,
But a Model T Ford stalls causing its owner misery and woe!
The Rose Bowl and Macy parades are planned with great ostentation,
Designed to entertain TV audiences across this great nation,
But small town parade committees are just as proud as they can be,
To plan and sponsor a pageant to please local friends and family!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Just The Right Pumpkin
Halloween is coming
The perfect children’s holiday
To make the most of it
You drive every weekend
Hundreds of kilometers
Checking out stores
Roadside stalls
And every pumpkin patch in site
Looking for the perfect pumpkin
The perfect color
The perfect size
And the perfect shape
But none are just right
Then take a child with you
Your daughter will do fine
Turn her loose for just a moment
Let her run through the aisles
In a few minutes, she will be smiling
A beautiful pumpkin in her hand
It may not be the right shape
It may not be the right size
Or the right color
But for her, it is just perfect
And that is what’s important
The man in the elevator hastens,
He feels ill at ease, with most teeth broken;
He pushes the button, marked in red ‘Ten’,
And seems very much anxious, now and then.
But halfway up, the elevator stalls,
The man frowns, apparently quite appalled;
He presses the ‘Open’ switch, rings the bell,
And yells at top of his voice, “what the hell?”
“I need to use the restroom,” he then screams;
Soon the lift kicks open as in a dream,
A woman standing there squeaks, stern but calm,
"So late again today? You know the qualm!"
Doctors told the old farmer his soul was soon to be his Makers!
"Spare me, Lord", he pled, "I must farm these hundred-forty acres!
My wife ain't able to hoe or mow or handle the old John Deere!
The place will go to hell (er, 'scuse me, Lord), that is what I fear!"
"The threshin' crew is comin' next week to reap the wheat and oats.
Grain prices will plunge, the radio man says in his daily quotes.
The barn needs paintin' and the roof needs repairin' too.
All this and the mortgage on the old place is way overdue!"
"In the garden there's taters, termaters and carrots to weed.
It's hay makin' time and I fear the alfalfa will go to seed.
Them thievin' birds and squirrels will rob me of my apple crop.
I ain't a drinkin' man, Lord, but right now I could use a drop!"
"The punkins is ripe for pickin' and the corn's ready for shuckin'.
The cattle stalls is heaped full and they really need a muckin'.
My chicken coops need fixin' and a real good cleanin' out.
Lord, I'm in a heap of trouble, of that there ain't no doubt!"
"There's twenty guernseys to milk, who's gonna take care of that?
There's them hogs to fatten up to sell and I want 'em good and fat.
The sheep needs shearin' and a dozen goats need milkin' too.
Lord, have mercy! I just ain't ready yet to rendezvous with You!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Now see a fine display in market hall
Where fishmonger's stalls sell the freshest catch.
A world of wet white tiles and melting ice.
Seafood displayed, arranged in rank and file.
One Scottish salmon commands centre stage
Stretched out upon its own tray of crushed ice
And next to a few Icelandic haddock
Along with cod trawled from the Dogger Bank.
To one side are some plaice all flopped and flat.
Seems they are staring up with fixed focus.
A side display of small fry, placed parallel
And herrings heaped up in sad slump of grey.
Some calamari, tasteless rubbery squid
Are off stage with other seldom sold bits.
In the corner there's offal bin with heads,
Guts, skeletons and several layers of skin.
Take for your cat. Put pence in charity box.
A fine display we see in market hall.
Mountain blizzard succulent Whirlpool night knows
Upon the heighten bridge light steadfast stalls
Ranges mountains bucket filled with snow
Frozen is the rain fall and winter calls
Blizzard Blues it storms over
Temperatures frozen air threatens us
Animals run for warrants cover
Where is the Abominable Trust
Succulent ices crunches maze
Autumns gold which is here blizzard season
Popular skiing sledding polar games craze
Can't swim in frozen lake no reason
Twinkle white powder Frozen dew
Boy suspended fall and Crush sugar cubes
Specs on granulated salt sweetened
Frozen drops rain-- Sleeping
Black as night sparkle snowflakes
Specs flowing growing drops of Lights
Glitter Sparkle shine so bright
Like Dark Skies black snow succulent Whirlpool nights
9/24/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Written for project North Omaha writers group (NOW) assignment
The Heart of the Rising Sun
(In search of the place of the Igbo nation in Africa)
By the banks where the Rivers of Niger interwatered with Benue
Spreading their wild tentacles to the farms and gardens terrain,
Turning this gleams and divides, into food basket state called Benue
In the soil of southeastern terrain,
Lies a nation of millions, where honor resides,
And the roots of antiquity and meritocracy reign.
From the cradle of Ugwuele, timeless and deep,
To the bronze that Igbo-Ukwu cast,
Bordering the ancient People of Igala
They are keepers of secrets the centuries keep,
With a future as vast as their past
Endowed with gifts and ornaments beautiful like the Ugbala
No monarchs or tyrants could capture their soul,
For their freedom was woven in sacred and just law;
By the elders and age-grades, the village made whole,
Protected by Ofo na Ogu and in the councils the ancestors saw.
When the shadow of empire demanded their knee,
The Ekumeku struck through the night,
Aba women rioted to the disgrace of the Empires civilization.
And the women of Aba stood fearless and free,
To reclaim what was theirs by right
They found no monarch to cajole in their vandalization
They are builders of commerce, the engine, the spark,
From the stalls where the markets expand;
Through the bond of entrepreneurs' of
Igba-Boi, they rise from the dark,
Lifting brothers to conquer the land.
In the factories of Nnewi, the engines are spun,
and industrial cities of Aba, businesses run
With a genius no hardship could tame,
For the spirit of Biafra, though tested by gun,
Still burns as an unquenched flame.
From the ink of Achebe, where cultures collide,
To the starlight Adichie has shed,
From the mathematic prowess of Chike Obi
to the pure calculus eloquence of Peter Obi
Their stories travel global on rivers of pride,
By the rhythms of Afrobeats fed.
Though scattered by oceans, their legacy stays
In the diaspora's heartbeat and tongue
The Igbo remain, through the length of their days,
The proud song that Africa has sung.
In the markets, a wounded dollar sighs,
IEA cuts oil demand, to no surprise.
Stocks stride to records, touching the sky,
With eyes on CPI, the reason why.
The Japanese yen, in decline it stays,
Interest rate differentials pave the ways.
The Fed needs low inflation signs, they wait,
For CPI results to decide their fate.
Bitcoin speculation, 2.8 million hold tight,
In the worst performing price cycle’s plight.
European banks set to cut rates soon,
EUR/USD climbs, a one-month boon.
China’s probe into EU trade barriers thickens,
As June CPI trends downward, rate cut quickens.
Pepsi earnings watched, stocks tread still,
Investors brace for inflation’s will.
JP Morgan upgrades Malaysia’s grade,
Policy reforms and progress made.
CPI data lower than we thought,
Markets soar, in gains they’re caught.
WTI oil shows bearish trends,
Investors shun junk bonds, as bankruptcy ascends.
South Korea fears Trump’s second round,
JP Morgan expects Fed cuts abound.
Market’s bullish momentum extends,
US inflation cools, rate cut trends.
Will China’s bank boost its economy’s fire?
June CPI’s cut path higher.
Wall Street climbs on inflation’s ease,
Yet big tech slumps, investors seize.
Trump’s win could Bitcoin’s value inflame,
JPY’s intervention remains the same.
China’s exports rise, imports fall,
BoJ intervenes, inflation stalls.
ECB slow on cuts, poll shows,
Commodities rise, US CPI glow.
Pound sterling rises, gold retreats,
Higher bond yields, USD beats.
Yen’s rally pauses, intervention denied,
Turkey’s back, emerging market’s pride.
The Panic Tide
The pulse begins its frantic drum,
A breathless rising of the tide,
As all the silent terrors come
To strip the peace away inside.
The palms grow wet, the cold sweat breaks,
The color floods a flushing face,
And every tethered muscle aches
Locked deep within this sudden space.
A jaw is clenched, a lip is torn,
The desperate teeth bite down on nails,
As from the throat a gasp is born,
Where every steady sentence fails.
The fingers curl to tight-bound fists,
The hands fling upward from the fright,
While trembling through the limbs persists,
And knees will jerk against the night.
The breath comes shallow, hard, and fast,
A heavy gagging stalls the air,
The body tenses to the last,
And screams aloud in its despair.
In reaching through the blinding storm,
The frantic fingers stretch to find
The safety of another form,
To anchor what is left behind.
There's a movement down South
where sound comes creeping
from beneath our feet, emptying
pockets which never had much.
You can see what we've written-
our bathroom stalls read
'Do something for the hell of it... anything...'
The messages are clustered around depictions
of stick-figures having gay intercourse.
Money- the ways they lied to us
unintentionally, believing
just like we do it’s a means to safety
or luxury cars with ass-warming seats.
But it's just an enhancer of methods
for questioning, down with the pill,
all cost and no lasting.
What gives weight to the want
for lingering? Beauty was,
and thus she is, now
and *** tomorrows.
Today, though form
and seasons change,
we have the means for loving.
‘Til the presently mysterious fabric
of time collapses, returning
to whatever it was
that caused it to begin.