Long Undertakers Poems
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if an atomic bomb is dropped, the cockroaches will survive.
we might not make it, but they will. They always have.
during the ice age, during the pandemics, during Armageddon.
they have the inside track on how to outlive everyone.
roach motels will take on a new meeting
you will have roach designers, roach engineers, roach undertakers
no one will scream "ooh!" when they see a roach
roaches will become the mayor, governor and president
if you are the only person who survives, enjoy the cockroaches.
your doctor, dentist, pharmacist and teachers will be of this species.
they will push you under a microscope to figure out how you survived.
remember not to squirm and smile pretty.
Biden put Trump in the bullseye.
But it didn't go quite as planned.
The old donkey has finally been laid to rest.
The Hyenas are cackling and seeing red.
Folks, this is all about the hobbling of America.
The gnawers are gnawing at the backbone of the middle class.
Replacing the Ten Commandments with the devil's breath.
Opening borders (in the name of humanitarianism)
is really about giving away freebies in return for a vote.
We've lowered academic standards in the name of equality.
Before you go under, ask your anesthesiologist- your surgeon- your nurse
If they were a byproduct of "no child left behind," Your life may depend upon it.
It's all about the globalist and elitist killing independence.
They are jealous of our autonomy and success and hate us for it.
They wish for our destruction, nothing more, nothing less.
Our caretakers (both asses and elephants)
Have sold swaths of farmland to communist China.
Bill Gates yearns to control population through vaccines...
His daddy was a eugenicist.
Sanger opened clinics in black neighborhoods to control population growth.
It was never really about reproductive rights.
I'm afraid our caretakers have become our undertakers.
Our founding fathers are rolling in their graves.
In nineteen eighteen there was an outbreak of flu
Caused little concern, only affected a few
But it returned with a vengeance later that year
And the world over it caused widespread fear.
First reported in Spain, and around the world spread
When it was over, fifty million people were dead
Hospitals were stretched and they struggled to cope
For both young and old, there wasn't much hope.
It affected the lungs and caused skin to turn blue
Only comfort was given it was all they could do
In effect it caused people to suffocate
And continued to spread at an alarming rate.
People advised to avoid crowds and to wear masks
They struggled to perform even basic daily tasks
Remote areas in the world were affected too
By this airborne killer virus, the great Spanish flu.
Effort's were made to slow down this disease
But slowly and surely it brought the world to its knees
Shops opening times were staggered all over the lands
People strongly advised not to shake hands.
Undertakers were struggling to cope with demands
Families' buried loved ones with their own hands
Healthy men and women and children too
Were all falling victim to the great Spanish flu.
Because of World War One, doctors were few
And those that were available, many fell sick too
Temporary hospital's set up in schools or church hall
With many brave volunteers answering the call.
They closed many schools, services were hit too
With workers struck down by this merciless flu
Late nineteen nineteen the virus reached its peak
Immunity grew stronger but it still struck the weak.
Sadly mankind had suffered and paid a great cost
To the great Spanish flu with millions of lives lost
The pandemic was now over, survivors started to thrive
But were mournful of the millions who did not survive.
Written 4th April 2018.
( Dedicated to the fifty million people who died
in the Spanish flu pandemic in the years 1918 to 1919. )
Note: 99% of my poems are fiction. Occasional some are not. This is one of them. Corruption is everywhere.
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Of all the lovely birds of the air,
The vulture is the one I hate most.
But why? Isn’t such a bird God’s creation too?
I suppose it’s the ugliness of its appearance,
Its bare throat devoid of feathers,
Its scavenging on dead animals,
Bald, ugly, squabbling and filthy.
I simply cannot stand it.
There are others like it, alas.
The human vultures that roam
In search of easy gain.
My wife had not been dead three hours,
When I returned home feeling awful.
There attached to the door of my home
Was a card, giving me condolences
And informing they were expert undertakers.
Did I not need an expert to bury my wife?
How they got to know so fast I do not know.
But I am head strong in these affairs.
I chose another agency, one I could trust.
A few days passed and a kindly soul
Phoned me up. I am a solicitor, he said.
So what! You’ll need the services of one.
Thanks, my friend, I have my own.
Again the telephone rang and a comely voice
Offered my condolences and wished
To make an appointment with me,
So that we could sell my home.
Incredible, I thought. My home is not empty.
My wife still roams about bringing me
Memories I am loathe to forget.
Politely I sent the lady to where she belonged.
My home was not for sale.
Will I receive more offers?
Who knows? I’m beginning to love
The flying vultures more.
The Uniforce
turned through our faces
we watch a clock to keep the meaningful places
running, turning hands amok -
in small space while we stand still.....
we used this cold embrace of urgency
to till ground -as the machines they became -
Too loud, in such close
proxy and to leave ourselves like fire, in a forge,
like the hearth beating embers in pulse
of our scourge; became something not enough
to counter the membrains purge, its member and its revenanced divulge.
In the Overdark, under darkly ?
the midnight coursed to the ghastly fades,
the air and a ghost's light
hath half to have made, crystal flux,
crystal hearts with undertakers spade.
A strange aeon is sent tronicly frozen in senced rage.
We might think we'll die too fast -
too much death fro technology of lusts
for our heads, to crack like eggs against
the falling oblong pressures of space religiology.
Wombed in purgatorious lessons
Into the vast emptiness amassed lesions.
Everything, again, we are made to be- together
in our Repress.
The locked-ness of Legion, to be held just right
up to the light until we can best, turn the page,
lest we shatter our bones with gauged
rolling radiate candleflicked in signature of sway,
passing, the litmus test alkalined aright.
With headlamp eyes
of neon pierce through the sky,
vamped sentinel heart s indicates pure its storm
to settle in strata newly bore.
The air is heavy, polltry.
Its fury pounced upon the rite,
a Gutter Play Musical Score D.
A chill of emptiness curtains the stage.
Whats more? we ride into the mind, petrified,
stoi'd out of Time,
StillBorn waiting upon....Abide...Abate...to Find...
Old Caleb Trotter had great plans for his town in Colorado.
For years he'd roamed the Rockies, finally finding his El Dorado!
He discovered glittering gold that would surely make him flush!
He founded Trotter's Gulch and soon there was a frenzied rush!
Cabins were built on plots that prospective miners selected.
Why, there was even a school and three churches were erected!
'Twas a bawdy place with the usual brawls and seedy saloons.
Soiled doves and gamblers invaded the town by platoons!
Time moved on and Caleb established a general store,
Figuring that the mining game wasn't for him anymore.
He made his fortune catering shovels, overalls and boots,
To hard-rock prospectors and other such galoots!
The population reached ten thousand and showed great potential.
It boasted a railroad station and other services essential.
It included three undertakers, five blacksmiths and ten preachers,
Four doctors, two newspapers and twelve well-respected teachers!
Alas, the pay dirt around Trotter's Gulch soon petered out.
The future of the town was left very much in doubt.
'Twas soon abandoned and another ghost town was born.
'Tis no longer on the map - it now lies desolate and forlorn!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Suffering And Pain
Walking to the store is an ordinary boring undertaking
It requires a list, some time and spending money
And very little else
They say it is easier than war
It takes no skill, no one gets killed for sure
But when some idiot runs you over with their SUV
On the sidewalk in the light of day
While drinking coffee, texting, reading comics
And driving at great speed
Then something must be said
Their pleasure is your pain and suffering
No one gets out of life alive. That’s understood
And undertakers must survive
There is no escape from here or from their kind
Perhaps if you used your vehicle for shopping
Things would turn out better
But I’m sure there is a meteor out there
With your name and license plate remembered
Like those undertakers, I have nightmares
Death wanders through my memories
Too many scenes of horror in my regrets
I prefer solitude to the hypocrisy of those vultures
I will end up in a black coffin to taste the blessings of my hell
I have suffered like those souls sensitive to freedom
The carcass is scarred and the heart traumatized
I am sorry for all those sins
I have tied up my demons and gagged my ghosts
If I listened to my fantasies, I would be a criminal with the pedigree of a serial killer
I carry the hatred of a Gazan trapped in the body of a descendant of slaves
Since I learned to walk, I have never had the courage to bow before the eschatological chimeras of a slavemaster God
I hate war, but I know how to handle weapons of war
I recognize all the hideous faces of misery, even in the darkness
Their negrophobia thickens the dignity of my Africanness
I will never submit to their deity
I have already embraced the spirituality of my ancestry
Their slanders and cruelty will never massacre my convictions
Keeping a clear mind, even against the mockery of the angel of death
I roam this cursed planet like a pandemic
I do not believe in humanity
I distance myself from humans who speak of loyalty
No trust to grant to those viper tongues
War is the compass of these madmen
From the atomic bomb to the black bomb under the eyes of the cradle of humanity
DIE THE DEATH!
(Dona eis requiem sempiternam)
Die the death and transcend vanity
O poor vernal flesh and bone,
Waned out of this primal valley
And sink like the moon beyond the coast.
All expectations, ‘tis the greatest
Reclined at the backdrop of the heart’s throb,
Relegated by mortal necessities in crest
Clouded by mist as the shrouding robe round a knob.
Farewell thee, to vanish from eyes.
Fear not, minds still shall keep thee
Though a while, less a bother to human plight,
The dire need for yen, companion and spree.
The undertakers trades fare supreme
And mourners sonorous rhymes are music prime;
Downing the lees of wine to spike faces grim
With throbbing drums, jigging feet and chime.
Great the awaited moment to close the eyes
And farewell the world with all her bother.
A descendance is paramount than to rise,
To die to live than live to die is best order.
Great ease is the last prize to pay
And refund the muck to its source beneath
Nothing else abide but merry mongers sway
Over nourished ordure, once a breath.
Why not sadness at the joyful tale of birth
And merriment at the woeful news of death?
Onward would be to the backyard of earth,
From incubi, toil and deformed breath.
Night veil drawn over our visibility,
In twinkle the pupil dilate a life span’s knell
Wedge in limbo, shrouded by mystery,
Knowledge only worms and flies can tell.
What need of life, fun, food or friendship?
All but a three episode script of dharma:
Ignorance precedes pain and then comes sorrow,
As circadian sculptor pruned our feature.
No mint can purchase back days gone by,
Neither riches to reverse a twinkle;
For a lifelong tie earn a profound sigh,
A spot on shoreline washed by sprinkles.
Poison, sickness, circadian effect and accident
Are final returns wherein all expectations lie.
Rather in life, in death is its fulfillment
And no further businesses have I but to die!
In the depths of bloodied water
Laying in the sludge of misunderstanding
Where the mud of history buries itself
War awaits us all
Disguised and deeply present
Buried in the marrow of timeless sentiment
Hidden in the sediment of vile undertakers
Employing the caskets of our children
To testify in shallow graves and markers of hate
War is the ghoul of our fallacious goodwill
The pacemaker of our alienated heartbeats
The vision of our counterfeit purpose
The throttle of our fearful lives
Running off the energy of ignorance
No longer can I wait
To cross a peaceful shore
Nevermore, nevermore
Evermore