Long Unsophisticated Poems
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It amazes me that she came to mind after some 50 years.
She lived far back across the fields, alone with not a care.
She was laughed at and talked about; some were afraid of her.
No one was ever harmed by her, and everyone stayed out of her way.
Even when they avoided her, it was difficult to escape the sound of her voice.
Up close or across the fields, we heard her so clearly and sincerely crying, “Holy!”
She was not sociable, and perhaps even a bit eccentric. Though religious, she was not a Mother Teresa. I do not remember a smile she gave to anybody for any reason. Was she out of her mind as some suggested? Was she a voice crying in the wilderness? Was she on a divine assignment from God? Was she a saint or holy person? I most assuredly did not know then, and I am presently content to let God be the judge of that. But she had no doubt about her God being Holy, because, with unrelenting commitment, she cried, “Holy!”
It’s clear to me that God had become the center of her every affection. Indeed, she deemed it her mission to proclaim the Holiness of God to a needy people. So without refrain, fear, or hesitation, she simply continued to shout, “Holy!”
She was unconventional, unsophisticated, unconcerned, and unlike anyone I have ever known. She cared not what people said, thought, or felt about her. She was fearless, and nothing mattered except her mission. She was called 'the sanctified lady’; but time after time, come rain or come shine, she paid us no mind, and she never ceased or declined. She just cried, “Holy!”
I never knew whatever became of her, but she was a small framed lady with a strong and deep sounding voice. It’s the cry of her voice that brings my eyes to tears. Without apology or regard for public opinion, from her home deep across the corn and cotton fields, we often heard her crying, “Holy!”
I don’t recall anything else she ever said or did. But I will say that if she was on a divine assignment, God must have been pleased with her. I suspect that it was a lonely and often cruel assignment, causing much pain and ridicule. But she bore the pain; she had nothing to gain; her message was clear and plain; she refused to refrain. She certainly was not popular, and I don’t remember a friend she ever had. But ever true to her task, from the depths of her soul, she cried, “Holy!”
Sixty-Six years ago today a very naïve farm-boy left the Hoosier farm,
To seek adventure beyond the horizon since farming had lost its charm.
He enlisted in the Air Force, a knight in blue to keep the nation free.
My gosh! Come to think about it, that unsophisticated lad was me!
Since I was only seventeen, I had to get my reluctant Ma to sign for me.
She came from a Quaker background and abhorred all strife, you see.
Pa was ambivalent about the matter - just one less mouth to feed, said he.
I marched off to face the future, another warrior for our family tree!
Harassment began once I arrived at the inhospitable induction station.
Docs had me bend over, then stand, turn my head and cough for observation.
They probed and prodded and stuck needles in my arms for inoculation.
Oh! The abject misery and humiliation of it all just to serve my nation!
Next came the swearing-in where I vowed to uphold the Constitution.
A fiendish sarge then assumed command and began his nasty persecution.
"Fergit yer Mom, Dad and Maggie Mae" said he, "Yer butt belongs to me!"
Just hours on duty and I was homesick for the farm, pining to be free!
They put me on a choo-choo to Lackland AFB, Texas, for my basic training.
I was shorn of all hair - by now my enthusiasm and patriotism was waning.
Ah! But when I donned that Air Force suit of blue, I stood proud and tall!
If my pals behind a plow and mule could see me now! I was having a ball!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
That naïve farm boy went on to serve 30 years in the Air Force, retiring
1 August 1978.
Please kiss and run, my only son
Her body is on fire.
Water rises,
Whisky on the table,
A unique type of gold in a glass,
That type of woman isn’t in your social class
Moments like these are meant to last
No money to spend, but time to kill.
My only son, a fall from grace,
Or a plunge from the hill
Take your misty mistletoe kiss
Disconnect the extinguisher:
That girl is on fire! Try not to diss
A battle beyond hopelessness for a woman in the ghetto
A segment of labor and a segment of pain
My son it appears that you are navigating your life
In a fast pace of unsophisticated women:
...
1 Peter 5:8 Be sober-minded; be watchful.
Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion,
seeking someone to devour.
Fuelling a need
that lay dormant
her intro into the world of sex
was rough and
unsophisticated
her first time fairy tale
turned into a nightmare
it was nothing
compared to the books she's read
that stranger scarred her
made her look for sex instead of love
blinded by a supposed search of her fairytale
all the men she attracted
somehow fell short
after their first encounter
without them being aware
they were weighed
and found wanting
deep down, she could not understand
that the contentment she chased
were somehow getting lost in between the sheets
every time she felt a little worse
and yet she continued
in that cycle
because it’s the only thing she knew
even though
that was never part of her destiny
*inspired by a close friend’s suggestion.
Not a personal write but someone out there might be fighting this demon*
14092012
"When nature exceeds culture, we have the rustic.
When culture exceeds nature, we have the pedant."
-Quote by Confucius
----------------------------------------------------------
feminine luxury
favored
high-pitched
tinkling at feet
resounding joy
connecting
Earthstar chakra
grounding
gushing lunar energy
honored divinity
now a simple charm,
a Bling, sparkling
stylish accessories,
insignificant
unsophisticated
HUMANS!
Why are you always spying on me? It's not my fault I live in a glass house.
Sorry. Please forgive my very UNsophisticated self for such a rude opening statement, but you startled me when you tapped on my window. That scared the beejeebees outta' me. Why do you do that?
My name is Sophi...last name Sticate. Yeah, yeah, I know. That's a cruel twist of fate, but I didn't choose my own name. I ask you, how can a fish be sophisticated when I pee in my own pool and leave a trail of poop hanging out of my butt?
Some kid throws my food at me every day, so it's no wonder I haven't developed manners. His Mom says I stink, but if she'd change my water every once in a while, maybe she'd stop holding her nose when she comes near. I even heard her threaten to flush me down the potty!
You want a sophisticated fish? Surely you jest.
NOT for any contest
Mists show vaporous idiosyncrasies
emotionless crying
over the essence of the dull sky,
same as a gentle walking unsophisticated steed
embrace a forceful nature,
delicate yet totally vulnerable
With the onset of twilight
the impiety appeared to be oddly astounding,
there was no witless snarl
and it's a smooth tone,
predawn conceals
quell the loco share of color moods,
Starlings rewind their impeccable wings,
early mooring paths for a sailboat
through wildly shifting flights,
a measurement for rating sight
for slowed down dreamers
When it got dull
fall into the stream
In a swarm of happy tones,
utterance grows softer and deeper
Grin impersonates amazing harmony
marks the epilog of a tranquil day
the gleam of the evening,
woven into an unending blanket
Inward supplications
go to close justifications
as the embedded kiss creates
everlasting recognition,
apex moans calmed the room
for a couple of moments,
underneath a shelter of trapped gems
Written: September 16, 2022
BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
She was as naïve and honest
as he was unscrupulous.
Her sincerity resonated in direct contradiction
to his entire clan’s diabolical ways.
Unsophisticated, unused to any form of deceit,
she fell hard for his bad boy looks and manners.
We tried to keep contact with her, but
she was quickly secluded, to be brainwashed.
We want to have our alone time, he told us.
His face was a sneer. To keep knocking made him angry.
She no longer had a cell phone, she was pretty much banished.
Underhandedly and methodically, he proceeded to squelch her light.
We saw her on the street occasionally, but he was with her.
Holding her arm, and he was the one who responded to us.
He had stolen her right out from under our eyes
led her like a puppy to his future plans of squelching.
Anthropomorphic test device to explore
amply, cheaply tricked out
with super tramping,
albeit unsophisticated trappings
strewn ceiling to floor
available for purchase at Dollar store
(actually merchandise
cost more than 100 pennies)
nonetheless unmanned spacecraft made
perfect landing upon alien nation i.e. red
planet's moon Phobos, meanwhile corps
engineers back at the ranch (nondescript
building) hi-fived each other perfect score
housed astrophysicists who didst monitor
remote control desktop exhaling relief for
misplaced anticipatory
uneasy tense premature
panic/fear transferred
figurative reins more
or less to onboard robots
re: exchanged pleasant bonjour
all around - as mission
impossible (most swore
could not be pulled off
without a hitch) successful procedure
to launch humanoid cargo spurred roar
as international teammates
(former rivals) just recently at war
liberated mutual accolades did reassure
each other, abe linkedin pact enterprise
predicated - regarding good rapport
witnessed courtesy delicate
present endeavor bore
invariably promised cheers galore
since assignment on shoestring budget,
would reap bajillions to sponsor
manned near future
outer space excursion hefty price tag
guaranteed state of the art – fourscore
and seven years ago proclaimed
men/women analogous
to pioneers of yore
solar system the new "wild west"
since Earth hereinbefore
now did offer, testimony tour
ring outer limits twilight zone
no way José extempore
modus operandi ditched
humanity to pollinate cosmos
ghost of Carl Sagan
would applaud as fitting encore.
Two women fighting over last cart
Unsophisticated, brawling, stubborn,
Short. Up rolls a knight, armor shining bright,
“Why d’ost thou fight til the death o’er singular
shining carriage? Mine has wings...fly ‘way,
take thee for thy miscarriage.
i shall tarry for one of my own.”
Their heads, ready to roll, explode, quibbling,
quizzical like two German Shepherds —
ears antennae’d for radar, heads cocked
ready to shoot, surprised, surrendering
to the prize — shoulders like majestic highs
walk into the sunset reprise.
The sun sparkles like diamonds
On the suited knight, night’s been saved
from a ridiculous fight.
What other maelstrom resides in the honey jar?
3/13/2020