Long Tempest tossed Poems
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New World Colossus Deception—2015
(Apropos The Sonnet of Emma Lazarus)
In her brazened left hand she holds the tablet year
of her shore’s liberty;
And a raised right lights the weary way to the land
of the brave and free;
But today, blind eyes look out to the wretched skies
and tormenting seas
Where frothing waves and white clouds tease hopes
of fleeing refugees.
No longer are there waiting arms and love
for a roaming, exiled family—
Greeted no longer with silent lips, but with vociferous voices
screaming no
To “…huddled masses…homeless, tempest-tossed…” children
that are to be;
Though they dare, must be aware upon these shore
is nowhere for them to go.
Their religiosity—washed with blood of the innocent—
has no place in this land;
For them and theirs—is no way a true Puritan would ever lend
a helping hand
To welcome their tried tired yearning pregnant hopes
of a new life begun.
No! Hell no! There of those here still waiting for true
and full freedom to be won!
This is the land of the Pilgrim’s pride; land where other
fleeing fathers and mothers died.
This land has only fought wars of peace; there is no place here
for you to peacefully abide.
The sea captain's weathered house still stands above the shore.
'Tis said that the old place is a century old or more.
Its long-shuttered windows face out t'ward the restless sea.
From the widow's walk his bride yet makes her mournful plea!
On dark and stormy nights 'tis said she can still be seen,
As she haunts the widow's walk acting out a spectral scene.
Her plaintive plea is heard e'en above the shrieking gale:
"Hurry home to me my love!" as she espies a distant sail!
'Tis said she lights a lantern to guide her lover home,
As he steers 'mongst the treacherous shoals and roiling foam.
Her heart is aflutter anticipating his arms and tender kiss,
Praying that this be his final cruise to e'er enjoy eternal bliss.
A phantom ship is seen to founder, according to local lore!
A sorrowful moan is heard e'en above the ocean's roar!
Alas, the ship sank 'neath the waves in the tempest tossed!
When ecstacy seemed within her grasp, all the souls were lost.
And e'en today in this supposed enlightened age,
The widows walk is transformed into an eerie stage,
Where, e'er young, faithful still, sobbing soft and low,
A sorrowful wraith awaits his coming, her true love to bestow!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Torn and tempest tossed
Steering straight I cannot
How narrow is that line
To keep me safe between
The devil and the deep blue sea
Too easy it is to stray on
To the primrose path
Where live in wait deadly dangers
To drag us deep or devour
So tempting is that siren song
Which I find hard to resist
And I fear the clashing rocks
In sailing the strait and narrow channel
Where turbulence of mind seethes
to draw us in its drift
Into the depths of drugs
Or make us succumb
To the pleasures of the flesh
Wearying for moments
Climaxing in ecstasy but draining
Our mental vigour,emptied
And shorn of true meaning.
When caught between
The act and its intent.
We cannot calm the turbulence in the open sky.
We must bear with its disharmony as it passes us by ~Quote by poet
Tempestuous moods erupt within, a tumultuous severe agitation
Brings forth undulating vibrations, exploding with a pounding pulsation
Retributions unholy, big blue-sky echoes with conflicting resound
When the balefully coarse maligning words mercilessly expound
Somedays gliding my way high through a stream of consciousness
Taken back by the waves soaring low to a destiny that seems endless
My soul, wrenched and wretched, lets loose from my clutching mind
Over the ocean, tempest-tossed above knotty seas less than kind
Excuse if you will my slashing unabiding, dismissive demeanor
Never shall I find where tides gently flow, and grass that is greener
Clashing and clawing through dark gathering clouds are my fate
Exit you my friend from my world and my presence before it’s too late
Like a pearl falling into the Pacific, he felt lost.
His human nature shrank and shattered like an autumn leaf.
Blood poured into sweat. Into his core, he was tempest-tossed.
Was he weak yet? Did he feel shaken by his strong belief?
Like cyclones shaking a banyan tree, dilemmas shook him.
The tug-of-war: to do or not to do, poked his conscience.
The whim of escaping all these too came to his heart's brim.
Constantly, all these hours, with his Abba, he did converse.
Of his twelve disciples, a few whom he chose to pray slept.
Was the fact that the soul is strong and the flesh is weak right?
Did their ambitions, which they cared for like rare pets, defect?
Were they, midst divine graces, like guinea pigs, filled with fright?
He knew, being with the Father, that these things would happen.
Doesn't birth in the spring pop up when winter goes barren?
He came and dwelt among men
And shared a vision of heav'n;
To Him some opened their doors,
But more denied their favors.
With sinners He sat and supped;
Thus, others called Him corrupt.
But they did not understand:
He changed their hearts with His hand.
He walked and taught in byways
And always with gentle gaze;
Some gladly took His offer,
Others remained a scoffer.
Still He sought those who were lost,
Those who felt were tempest-tossed.
He healed the sick--gave them hope!--
Granted them the strength to cope.
He knew He had few days left
And sorrowed for those bereft;
In His heart, He put us first--
Both good and bad and the worst.
In spite of His love so clear,
We pierced His side with a spear.
Then as He drew His last breath,
For us all He conquered Death.
April 6, 2023
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Heart! My consciousness! My compassion! My reality!
Broken by grief, stress, strain, wrath, and pain; now fails to be free!
From that fatal moment, we lost our melodic rhythm,
I have lost my Physique-psyche coherence and lissome...!
Equilibrium like scattered feathers of a dead bird,
Flows with winds and storms of emotions; now seen so blurred;
Intimacy with you, my love, which I had felt and lost,
Has fallen now like an age-old banyan tree, tempest-tossed...!
Teddies, art and craft works, red-rose blooms and blossoms, and cards,
Garments, bracelets, perfumes, gift vouchers, and plants in my yards;
Each lay scattered, like reminiscences of homes looted,
Who should I go for my consolation? My joys muted...!
My meditations have failed; yoga and contemplation,
Nothing left, save, implicit and explicit frustration;
My brain seems gone blank as though John Locke's tabula rasa,
I have become a lone dancer in a knees-up salsa...!
The bleeding hearts of my fancy garden soon fade, somehow,
Where have the doves that dwelt within windows of my home, now?
Butterflies that fluttered, in my mind once, have gone quiet,
When will, o heart, torn into bits, end my inner riot...???
29 January 2023
Hello America. I still have high and lofty hopes and dreams of you. Your ideals and principles of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are still highly favored and deeply intact. The vision of the founders sometimes seems under siege, but remains so vividly in place. Perhaps presently, their vision is even more real than the signers of 'the compact' on the Mayflower ever dreamed possible.
You, America, like the Mayflower, must keep your sails set and never give way to high winds and storms at sea. You, America, like our founders, must not be so naive as to think there would not be fights. Like them, you must forge ahead with all your might through multiplied fears in the darkness of seemingly innumerable nights.
Their losses were great both at sea and at the shore, but they fought through the fog of a million teardrops as brave ones who rose above their fears and continued to roar as lions and soar the heights like eagles.
Through the evils and greed that gave rise to Native American slaughters and African American slavery. Through more than 40 years of the silent cries of 60 million unborn babies. O great and beloved one, in spite of atrocities gone unheard and the pleas of rationality and reason unheeded, your entrenched goodness retains your greatness. O great and beloved one, your greatness often comes under attack but always bounces back. Your greatness is often taken for granted but remains on track. It's because your greatness lies not in your perfection, but in your noble pursuits in spite of your imperfections.
242 years; through battle scares and tempest-tossed; through bloody wars and constitutional crises, you live on to wave 'Old Glory". May your future be ever bright and shining forth the light. Happy birthday America. July 4, 1776-
06282017PSContest, Summer Soltice, Brain Strain
There is a goddess green with years
Who stands in freedom's name,
Holds high the torch of Liberty
Above the sea and land.
To claim her promise multitudes
Braved, tempest tossed, the deep.
To tyranny each back was turned,
By hope each face was lit.
Once by a passage through the waves
The Israelites were led
Out from a land of bitter toil
Towards their promised home.
Horatius with blood on brow
Had faced alone the foe,
Then headlong plunged into the deep
And swam the Tiber's flow.
But conquest has its rivers too,
Much suffering brings much power,
For Joshua crossed the Jordan,
Caesar the Rubicon.
This is the law of history,
Shall be as it has been,
But if the root is bitter
Then bitter is the tree.
For if we hate the tyrant
More than his tyranny,
The morrow are our foes our slaves
And the tyrants we.
In history's chains our feet are bound,
My hands are bound to thine.
Should one but suffer perfectly
His kingdom shall not fail.
Unlike her eastern twin of the ocean,
she’ll shed no tear for the lost and alone.
No emotion for the wretched masses,
because her heart shall be as hard as stone.
In her fist she’ll carry no bright beacon,
to call those huddled masses to her shore.
She’ll tower above a locked iron gate,
no golden path stretched out before her door.
She will take your poor, homeless, tempest tossed,
send them back to the place from whence they came.
They will not be welcomed to her bosom,
but cast aside in America’s name.
Her barbed borders guarded by armed forces,
sending out her cold message loud and clear.
Proclaiming America’s new motto,
If you’re not rich or white, get out of here.