Long The great depression Poems
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I grew up holding a dear man in high esteem,
And as strange to you as it may seem,
Though there was a plethora of heroes to be had,
My all time hero was and is my dear old Dad!
He led his family by setting a Godly example.
His loving kindness was more than ample.
Struggling through the Great Depression,
Supporting his family was his only obsession!
He was a devout believer in God and his nation,
And was always active in his congregation.
Dad was a firm believer in the Golden Rule,
Espousing that old adage teaching Sunday School!
Though he has been gone for many years,
I still think of him and shed rueful tears,
As I recall the greatest hero I know of.
Care of his family and others was a labor of love.
He made no ripples as he traveled life's rocky road,
And with many burdens his back was bowed.
Just an ordinary factory worker in the local town,
No doubt in Heaven he wears a many-starred crown!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
A tribute to my father, William John Hinshaw
Writers and poets are a different breed
They live and breathe phrases and concepts
Awash with all manner of clever speech
At engaging the reader, they're adept
They invite you on travels to distant lands
To discover strange customs and beliefs
To experience a whole new world apart
The Rain Forests, The Great Barrier Reef
Through the eyes of these intrepid travellers
We witness different morals and rituals
Experiences people wouldn't normally view
Many of which, are sacred and spiritual
Imagine if we didn't have these literary giants
To warn us of mistakes of the past
The Great Depression, the two World Wars
How great nations through history never last
Writers and poets are a different breed
They focus on the ethereal side of being
Flying high above the horizons
In a world of unknown and unseeing
© Jack Ellison 2014
This is a letter I should've written to you many years ago,
To express my love and affection - so much to you I owe!
Alas, I didn't tell you I loved you enough, that I'll ever rue;
The things I want to tell you now are so very long overdue.
Thanks for all the pain you suffered just to give me breath,
And that time you prayed for me when I was nearing death.
I shall always remember your sweet and tender smile;
Your words of encouragement have made my life worthwhile.
I treasure the many times you shared your faith with me,
Especially hearing about Jesus' love as I sat upon your knee.
Tho' at times I rebelled at attending Church and Sunday School,
I'm so thankful that your taught me to follow the Golden Rule.
Mom I treasure many precious memories growing up as a lad.
I know the Great Depression sapped the resources of you and Dad.
You sacrificed so much to see that we kids were schooled, fed and clad,
And thanks to you, the good times far out-weighed the bad!
Tho' we had little worldly pelf, there was abundant love suffice;
When I faced Y's in the road, you always offered sage advice.
Tho' the time with your loved ones was, Oh, so very fleet,
I know that you have found well-earned peace sitting at Jesus' feet!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The bell above the door still jingles~
a sound like nickels spilling from a tin.
Inside, the air smells of licorice and mildew,
of something sweet refusing to let go.
Dusty glass licorice jars sit on the shelf.
A single ceiling bulb flickers
over penny candies wrapped in wax.
Wooden floorboards groan underfoot,
remembering when kids reached for treats on the top shelf
A rotary phone rests on the counter, black and patient,
its coiled cord a noose for yesterday’s conversations.
Behind the counter, Mrs. Nicholson stalworth stands;
she’d grown up in our town,
knew everyone and just about everything
about everyone.
she also knew where everything lived~
the peppermints, the lye soap, the brittle
catalogues from 1947 curling at the edges.
She moved slowly, dust rising in her wake,
a pioneer woman who remembered
world wars, the Great Depression, and
when bread cost a dime.
Behind the register, her apron now hangs empty,
still smelling of peppermint and camphor.
I pause.
This is where time comes to loiter.
*Mrs. Nicholson was one of Garland's early female entrepreneurs; she established “Nicholson’s Variety Store” in downtown Garland to help support her family after she was widowed. Her husband, Stephen Edwin Nicholson, a former Garland mayor, perished in the deadly May 11, 1927, tornado that swept through Garland. Mrs. Elma Nicholson made dreams come true for many a Garland kiddo back in the day. Her store was a legend on the former Square, as many local children would spend their hard-earned allowances in the store. Their parents would conspire with "Mrs. Nick" to set aside dolls or other toys for Christmas gifts to be retrieved just before Christmas Eve. (Source: Garland Historical Society)
You may read the related memoir vignette at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/i_remember_when_13626
I hasten to converse with my brother Don ere it is too late,
To say goodbye to my brother who lies in a perilous state.
Lord, I pray for soothing words as he begins his eternal bourne,
To be welcomed by You when from these earthly bonds he's shorn.
Should I reminisce about the good times when life was more sublime,
Growing up in The Great Depression when we scarcely had a dime?
Should I mention how thankful we were for our Godly Mother and Dad,
Who directed us to His paths and saw that we were fed and clad?
Should I salute him and thank him for his valiant service to this nation,
As he defended our precious freedoms - he faithfully fulfilled that obligation.
Should I remind him that as a Peacemaker he'll be an honored son,
By God Who'll place a crown upon his brow when his final race is run?
Should I remind him that he faithfully served Your people while on earth;
That he served his fellow citizens with enthusiasm and pithy mirth!
Should I remind him of his love for family and how very much he sacrified?
What a glorious moment 'twill be when he reaches out to touch the Face of Christ?
Or, would it be best if I kissed him upon his brow and simply held his hands,
And whispered in his ear, "I love you, Don! Let go! Your family understands!"
Lord, I pray for the right things to do and say as he begins his eternal bourne.
Please enfold him in Thy loving arms when from these earthly bonds he's shorn!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Mother dear, I recall the many worry lines upon thy dear face.
Oh, that if time I could reverse and them from thy face erase!
Forgive me Mother dear if I caused you any undue despair.
Forgive me Mother dear if I etched my share of them there!
You struggled to see your family through the Great Depression.
To see to the needs of your family was thy sole obsession.
You saw us through sickness and health - to that I can avow.
I know that this alone carved worry lines upon thy brow.
In my feckless youthfulness, too many times I let you down.
I saw disappointment on thy face and thy disapproving frown.
If only I had the power to turn back the clock and erase,
Those worry lines that I caused to crease thy noble face.
I rue the many times that I gave you unnecessary sass.
Those hurtful words from my mouth were so terribly crass.
It gives me peace to know God erased those worry lines from your brow,
When He welcomed you Home where you rest at peace with Him now!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 4 in Paula Swanson's "Line" Contest - September 2010
Writers and poets are a different breed
They live and breathe phrases and concepts
Awash with all manner of clever speech
At engaging the reader, they're adept
They invite you on travels to distant lands
To discover strange customs and beliefs
To experience a whole new world apart
The Rain Forests, The Great Barrier Reef
Through the eyes of these intrepid travellers
We witness different morals and rituals
Experiences people wouldn't normally view
Many of which, are sacred and spiritual
Imagine if we didn't have these literary giants
To warn us of the mistakes of the past
The Great Depression, the two World Wars
How great nations through history never last
Writers and poets are a different breed
They focus on the ethereal side of being
Flying high above the horizons
In a world of unknown and unseeing
The Great Depression began around 1930 and it was world wide.
It was so bad that about forty thousand people committed suicide.
It began when the Stock Market crashed on October the 29th of 1929.
The Great Depression sent many people to the unemployment lines.
The Great Depression lasted over ten years.
Life was rough, that much is painfully clear.
That period brought about Gangsters and many people turned to crime.
My Grandma blamed Hoover for the Great Depression because he was President at the time.
Times were tough and many good people suffered back then.
People were happy when the Great Depression came to an end.
I am the roaring twenties
And the cotton club.
I am Al Capone and his
Thugs.
I am the rise of Joseph
Stalin.
I am the age of science
And penicillin.
I am Walt Disney and
Mickey Mouse.
I am electricity in
My house.
I am the stock market
Crash.
I am the first Academy
Award bash.
I am Miss America pageant
The first time.
I am Valentino dies reads
The headlines.
I am the great depression
Sweeps the land.
I am Lindbergh on north
Atlantic flight plan.
I am Betty Crocker and
Wonder bread.
I am the great migration
Watch me spread.
I am speakeasies and Gerber
Baby food.
I am the age of Jazz puts
You in the mood.
I am the woman's right to
Vote ,19th amendment.
I am seven-up, Coca cola's
First resentment.
Turbo1904
Just outside Mountain, Wisconsin
the forest lies. It invites me inside
to hear the stories, it longs to tell.
Around a curve a puddle of water
from a fall of rain.
At each turn I never knew
what I would find.
A photo of a bear in the dark
is posted at the gas station.
The clerk said it is deep
within the forest when I
stopped inside for a snack.
No one can say for certain
where the forest ends.
I’m going inside to see
what it reveals. Another level
of secrets lies in undergrowth.
All trees stretch their arms
upward reaching for the sun.
I’m driving around the state
to find my time and place.
Lands once stripped, replanted
in a public works project
during the Great Depression
to give the land new life.
A glance through a crown
shows the sun as it shines on me.
Each morning asks me to start again
after I step outside the motel.