Long Stiff as a board Poems
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Child hood
Out of the mouths of babes
Comes a wisdom, a knowing.
Sometimes getting lost in a rage
of ever changing, ever growing.
That desire less journey into age,
where they will seldom be showing
that wisdom of innocent childhood
lost in aging of the soul, lost in wood.
Seldom able, - getting passed - stiff as a board.
Knowing, wisdom, freedom is lost to ones memory’s hoard
as they become ingrained, incorporated into daily life.
As those who would have innocence cut off with a knife,
assimilated into parents, teachers, peers, lovers and bosses.
Innocence, wisdom, subconscious knowledge suffers losses.
What was all these things, in living childhood,
become in adulthood, unacceptable qualities - not good
and so, sheep now stand were childhood once stood.
B. J. “A ” 2
June 10th 2004
Assuming… cold…
An abyss of extricated lies
Squeezing out like bile from your brain
I can’t breathe when the voice of yours
Is so edgy…so rock hard
As if my life is but a layer over you
That you can break and manipulate and BUILD UPON
I cringe—I turn into a statue
Defeated and ever-blinking
As the rest of my existence around is sinking
I don’t want to be a part of it
But I feel the chains linking to you
As you twist and pull and contort
I am still and stiff as a board
Cracking and rotting—a piece you hoard
Labeled unworthy
Fables unwinding
I’m still here blinking the tears away
But as the world occupies my spirit
My physically chained body yearns
Yearns for a warmth that never comes
That is always promised
A voice from the deep draws me in
Pulling me up for a moment
Touching me
The voice is cold but his arms are warm
And every familiar face around dies away
Dark eyes crushing my tears into powder
And I smile
Because I have never read a face
As genuine and unassuming as his
And for once
I welcome what once was disease
I welcome the haunt of his existence
Because though he has raised me from the abyss
He is willing to come again
And keep on pulling
11/3/13
Hoosier winters were mighty frigid on the farm when I was a lad.
Ma insisted no matter what I did, I was to be warmly clad!
With toboggan cap, mackinaw, mittens and lace-up leather boots,
And of course beneath it all, one of those scratchy union suits!
They've been around nigh on a hundred-fifty years, I'm told,
Worn by men, women and kids to protect 'em from the cold.
With a handy flap, dozens of buttons, in colors of red or white;
They don't enhance the physique -in fact they look a fright!
The buttoned flap is a practical and convenient innovation,
Especially when in a hurry and in moments of desperation!
I've even heard of fellers dwellin' in 'em all the winter long.
By springtime the fragrance must've been most powerfully strong!
On clothes lines on cold and wintry days hung a frightful horde,
Of frozen union suits dancin' on the lines as stiff as a board!
In a pile nigh the parlor stove they would be casually tossed,
To shed their clingin' coats of rime and gradually defrost!
Ain't nothin' that'll keep you warmer on a cold wintry morn,
For sloppin' hogs, milkin' cows and shuckin' fields of corn,
Curryin' horses, milkin' goats or any other agrarian pursuit,
Like a scratchy, itchy, long-legged, venerable union suit!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Lecherous Luther was wont to grope
He ceased to function at the end of a rope!
Here lies Cletus as stiff as a board
He slipped on the ice and busted his gourd!
Here rests our dear Ruby who failed to duck
She was beaned on her noggin by a hockey puck!
Egbert the boxer took a fatal jab to the jaw
He died on the spot for failing to yaw!
Interred below is Purvis rigid and prone
Alas, he choked on a chicken's bone!
How we lament the loss of Naomi our sister
She was whisked up and away by a Kansas twister!
Dudley kept in shape by regularly joggin'
Alas, he tripped and fell crackin' his noggin!
Phineas was laid to rest for his eternal snooze
He died too young because of his fondness for booze!
Wilfried didn't heed the warning regarding the curve
He met his doom in a Lamborghini for failing to swerve!
While breaking a bronc Tex was abruptly unhorsed
Perhaps the task would've gone better outsourced!
2022 Polar Vortex - Across Wide Band Of North America
Power outage here within
mine happy hunting grounds
(as well the ghosts of Lenni Lenape),
viz Perkiomen Valley, Pennsylvania
December twenty third
two thousand twenty two wrought
(lasting greater part of twelve hours)
impossible mission to keep warm
generating body heat
necessity courtesy three dog night,
sure as I'm sitting here
nevertheless found yours truly
yearning for global warming
while dentures chattered
a mile a minute then jumped
out me mouth
and scrabbled, scrambled
and scratched along floor
leaving corpse like body abed
stiff as a board
dead cold analogous,
when rigor mortis
grips lovely bones
immune to brutal cold.
Ordinarily, the weather
considered non trees
son us, a neutral subject on par
with non nose
wrinkling odoriferous cheese
usually ranks as minor distraction,
without whether yours truly agrees
or not, except
during balmy temperatures,
an unavoidable tease,
whereat sub zero degrees,
whether Centigrade or Fahrenheit
demands human sacrifice
(me anima knocking knees),
no negotiating with Ole Man Winter,
he requests (lest
he continue deep freeze
maelstrom until the end of time),
nothing 'cept a healthy seas
sunned *****sapien to appease
his insatiable appetite
froze to the core,
when all body functions cease,
thus until onset of frostbite disease
transformed me into a human popsicle
obliging surrender of self,
no matter I always minded "p's"
and "q's", and adhered
to selfless decrees
not until that moment - this me's
lee sad excuse e'en for missing link,
said personal radar of this primate
suddenly went haywire madly wheeze
zing, as if giant hand (some
harried styled swiftly tailored
paw) did squeeze
traumatizing, suffocating, mangling
constricting, asphyxiating... sensation
(surprised muss elf, and all my enemies,
hence survived death as a breeze)
when similar to Socrates
ill fate found him downing hemlock,
necessitated, I reluctantly quaffed antifreeze
as preservative, plus
out of necessity to survive
being clobbered, buffeted,
assaulted...finally please
zing lee melting titanic iceberg
more bearable on par with a sneeze
than compared to frigidity
of writer's block.
All those shells you hide behind
Keep you in the empty womb
An egg with no arms to hug
No fingers to use the spoon
No soap to wash the sin away
Without them you lose yourself
More importantly, you lose supper
The closest cousin to love is food
Gossip can not be consumed
It is not a sweet pastry or cake
Not on the menu for today
Redemption has a bitter taste
Sins are like feathers in the wind
The priest orders you to catch them
Return them to the chicken, every one
Attach them back exactly to the bird
From where you plucked them firstly
Your original sin was to tell lies
Pray to the chicken for forgiveness
In their native language at lunch
Don't show your tongue in public
Words spoken wrongly don't come undone
You can not return them once they do harm
False ones against your neighbor don't return
Once the damage is done, lost in the wind
Words should not be taken lightly
As light as a feather from the skin
From innocent chickens sinless
Minding their own business
Sentiments should not be stiff
As stiff as a board with scorn
Lips should speak softly with truth
With the logic of gossip still born
Beg for forgiveness before dinner
The priest will understand if you are late
But don't forget the chicken and feathers
That would be a mistake
*Authors note: Remember to wash your feet before eating. That foot and words you eat may be your own if you go gossiping.
A rising on Valentine’s
Resur -e – rection
Four AM Valentine’s morn, I awoke.
Stiff as a board - stands a mighty oak,
reaching up = a gift for that heavenly body
- that sweet delicious pink cloud
= wishing to penetrate – into ecstasy ( her shroud ).
There I stood, against the ravishes of old age and time –
for a long, long time – with no place to go,
for deep down – in my heart – I’ve come to know
that in my branches, you will never climb
nor upon this mighty oak, come to rest.
The wood that greeted me, will never greet you,
Will never be a pillar of strength for you to climb upon.
To pulp- my wood, this mighty oak – becomes.
B.J.”A” 2
January 27th 2007
A rising on Valentines
Resur – e – rection
Four AM Valentines morn, I awoke,
stiff as a board – stands a mighty oak,
reaching up to heavenly skies – empty –
whishing upon a star that would not be
a heavenly body for me – that pink cloud,
sweet, delicious – ecstasy wrapped in a shroud.
A surprise !, standing against the ravages of time,
- for a long, long time – this gift with no place to go
for deep down – in my heart – I have come to know,
that upon this tree, you have no desire to climb
nor upon this mighty oak come and take a rest
and maybe find, that doing so, could be the best
wood, the wood that greeted me, will never greet you,
will never be a pillar you wish to climb upon.
To pulp – my wood, this mighty oak – becomes, gone.
What does an old man find ?, - when realizing so few
moments arise that he might sing a glorious song
to the goddesses “ Isis ”, “ Ishtar ” – not a clue.
B. J. “A ” 2
February 15th 2007
It's six months since I was told
That Parkinson's was my ill
It's taken over all I have
It's made me very ill
It's taking its time to get use to
And sort out all the pills
As they make me feel so sick
I can't do nothing at all
My body aches from top to toe
And I feel stiff as a board
I find it hard to stand and walk
I wobble over the floor
He plays away with my mined
He moves my things all day
He's so annoying to have around
He confuses me all day
I make a drink and sit and rest
A nice coffee will do
But by the time I get to sit
A latte I do have
I shake a bit and Tremble
And do the Rock and roll
I have no need to exercise
He does it all
The morning passes by
Iv done nothing at all
I sit here and think
How much I have to do
The morning has been wasted
And lunch time. Has arrived
My appetite has long gone
I hardly eat a crumb
But Mr Parky as I call him
He can go to hell
He isn't going to take my life
And all the things I love
He's a strange man he is
He lets me have a while
Of feeling good and healthy
Just for a few hours
I start to think What can I do ,
there's so much I have missed
Il bake a cake and make some jam
And enjoy the afternoon
Then he's back he gets so bored
He starts all over again
He think its funny
And that he will win
He just won't leave me alone
But he's got a big surprise
I'm tougher than he thinks
No way will he keep bullying me
As I want to live
So when he comes and he is bored
I'm going to give him a surprise
I'm going to kick him up his ass
And give him a taste of my life,
Sue gage ??
A Parkinson's suffer
If John hadn't died because of drugs, he would've turned forty-nine today.
If John hadn't died, his fiftieth birthday would've been just one year away.
The paramedics had planned to perform CPR but they saw it was something John didn't need.
They quickly learned that performing CPR would've done no good so they did not proceed.
Sadly, John had died and he went to be with the Lord.
His arm was sticking upward, he was as stiff as a board.
I learned about the circumstances of his death from the people who he lived with.
John had done me wrong before he died and the time has come for me to forgive.
I had to threaten him with legal action because he'd been coming in my house and swiping some of my medicine.
I informed him that I'd have him arrested if he came on my property again.
Because of taking drugs, those drugs turned out to be John's noose.
Sadly, he was destined to die because of his many years of drug use.
[Dedicated to John Brown (1970-2019) who died on June 3, 2019.]