Long Up his sleeve Poems
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I could see the way you look at him when he sat down in that chair, all the life had gone out of him and he collapse on the ground looking at the sky above moving around but the man in the cloud was not there to rescue him. He thought he had captured it, and his heart was yearning for it, he wanted to run his personal best, but his body was too stiff to fight out the rest .I saw the way you look at him as if you had mesmerize his thinking and cloud his vision. I saw the way you look at him as if you had cast a terrible spell over him; he was just staring at you as if he had a hold on you but the power of the universe was keeping him strong. He powered out of the starting block with all the energy that he has got, moving like a horse on a race track when all of a sudden the pack starts running away from him and he was trailing in the back, I saw him running his personal best but the fleet was ready to show the universe the best, I was cheering for him but those on the back stretch was closing in and when they passed him around the bend, I feel heaven walking all over my head; all of a sudden I saw a light aircraft in the sky hovering over him secretly in the cloud as if it was on a assignment to get him. He kept running with all the courage in him but the gold and the silver was swinging in front and he try to find that final speed but his body was telling him that life is real. The race was over and he found himself lying on the ground staring on the bronze medal dangling in his hand and the crowd cheering him on.I saw the way you look at him when the fastest man captured the gold and the way the story was told, he started out on a mission to win but gravity held his speed and your passion soften his zeal, his body gets weak because your love was all over him and that was not the best medicine for him. The gold medal was wrapped up in banner in his hand and the clouds in the skies carried him safely along. I saw the way you look at him as if you have a story to tell him but faith pushes courage up his sleeve and the universe honor his zeal.
The false prophets are blooming again.
Just like they were at the turn of the century.
After all, 2000 is a huge number
and huge numbers beg for huge events...
The Second Coming would have been it.
After a couple of thousand years,
the wandering children of Israel came back home.
The good book says the third temple must be built.
Some poor red heifers are to be sacrificed.
Sometime after, the antichrist is to arrive.
This is when things supposedly get a little rough
. The believers are going to get sucked into heaven.
The rest of us will be left to fend for ourselves
in the rubble and nuclear dust.
The tribulation ignites
Christ is commissioned to open up a can of wup ass.
I'd pay top dollar for a front row seat to that.
Then a thousand years of peace (this is hard to believe.)
What happens after that is anyone's guess.
PS.
Some pink-haired woman on YouTube
recently screamed: "Trump is da antichrist"!
Just like some beer-bellied boys thought Obama was.
I believe the antichrist to be a covert type of entity.
Trump always shows the world what's up his sleeve.
Besides, I don't think Dr. Triple 6 would be sporting a comb-over,
but then again, I'm no prophet.
Even the holiest couldn't know Him but a glimpse was enough
Going through times so grim life wasn't about the worldly stuff
They shined through these moments giving God all the praise
They never sat on the fence in so by following the Lord's Ways
But today it is a different story too many people are distracted
They can not see God's Glory for His Light satan has refracted
Yet His Light is still there His Glory was, is and will never cease
You should read up on His Story and not let the devil so fleece
In prison they would sing and what happened to Paul and Silas
Let's say freedom would ring, The Rescuer of all from the abyss
But many don't sing, in fact in His Name they don't even believe
And to them these words do not ring another trick up his sleeve
For either you're in or you're out yet only God knows your heart
He knows your every single doubt the very instant of it's start
He knows you so well but it is you who needs to open the door
So many picking hell when there was so much, so much more
Before you know it’s already here
Fillin’ us with hope and cheer
You feel it in your fingers and toes
Strangers smiling and sayin’ hello
To many it’s a sweet surprise a crazy high it’s almost like
A long lost friend they've been waitin’ to see
But for me the feelin’ never fades the magic never goes away
It’s always Christmas to me
No matter what the day may be
Santa’s got a trick up his sleeve
The bells are ringin’ in my ear
Lights are shinin’ love is near
Whether snow is touchin’ down the sun is heatin’ up the ground
Frosty’s gettin’ jolly or the elves are asleep
The holly’s in my hopeful heart long before December starts
It’s always Christmas to me
I don’t have to see it to believe it no no no
It’s wonderfully magical so fantastical why would I let that go
To many it’s a sweet surprise a crazy high it’s almost like
A long lost friend they've been waitin’ to see
But for me the feelin’ never fades the magic never goes away
It’s always Christmas to me
He's a whiz of a wiz
and what a whiz he is,
when he gets, sets right down,
and puts his mind to it,
with a trick or two up his sleeve,
he won't hesitate or dissimulate, he'll just do it,
and your eyes you really won't believe.
When his magic hat and he
had a holiday in Hawaii,
where, as he sat beach-side,
a Mai Tai to drink,
asked a local moke,
“Is it all mirrors and smoke?”
He reproachfully replied,
'Now, what do you think?
Have no illusions,
I'm not a prestidigitator,
with sleight of hand,
intended to obfuscate,
I've taken the oath,
my secrets never to reveal,
however, I can say this,
you may speculate.'
While strolling through the graveyard the other day, I was drawn,
To a host of stones with creative and pithy epitaphs etched thereon!
Such flowing poetic verse is deemed worthy of recording for posterity,
Due to its peculiarity, sincerity, rarity and macabre hilarity!
"Here lies Gus riddled with lead! The high sheriff shot him dead!"
"He brewed the finest booze in the county! 'Til a G-man shot him for the bounty!"
"From his horse Red was throwed! He was the finest feller we ever knowed!"
"His jealous spouse cut short his life! With a twelve-inch butchering knife!"
"She slipped on a derelict banana peel! The bump on her noggin failed to heal!"
"He failed to slow down and swerve! Lost his nerve and missed the curve!"
"If you think this place has no appeal! How the heck do you think I feel?"
"Here lies the late bullfighter Umberto! He was fatally gored by el toro!"
"Clyde owns this piece of real estate! Or that's what he claims, at any rate!"
"Barnstormer Barney has flown the coop! He failed to negotiate an outside loop!"
"Cowpoke Pete has bit the dust! From his wild cayuse he was abruptly thrust!"
"A slug ended the career of gambler Steve! Seems he had some aces up his sleeve!"
"Too much cholesterol is how he met his fate! Docs warned him but 'twas too late!"
"She met her doom skating on the ice! Tried to do the triple axel thrice!"
"He always enjoyed a nickel cigar! Alas, his flame died out due to too much tar!"
"Upon my stone let no bird alight! Should that happen, please clean off the blight!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I dreamt of sending a spiritual invite
but only could arrange to hold it at night.
The famous gentleman card players who came
all met to reveal more of this powerful game.
Since I was the only one not yet dead,
they charged me to tell what they had said.
Players from beyond of legend and lore
thinking thoughts never spoken before.
Amidst green felt table and shaded dim light
The Cincinnati Kid's quips could delight.
James Bond's repartee appeared to confound,
thwarting terrorists' revolt plans profound.
Certainly, one memorable hand of these greats
was Doc Holliday's renowned aces and eights.
Also, there was unassuming Bret Maverick
up his sleeve he had always some clever trick.
Though losers can be dealt a high value hand
only winners can bend what's real on demand.
They're keen reading what others are thinking
then making bold bets without ever blinking.
The only card game that we know of so far,
when everyone wonders what the winning cards are.
If all players drop, the winner may not show,
unique ploys and options, only experts know.
At games there's allowed some light table chatter,
to fools unschooled, it seems not to matter.
Only those at the table say when the game ends
most of the time they all depart peers and friends.
As the famous gents invited did all say
there's much more power in poker today.
So far above what other games can claim
now beyond doubt, it's the greatest card game.
SOMETIMES THE FLOWER ISN'T WORTH THE RAIN
He was on the short end of a losing dream
She smoked their last cigarette of faith
Running out of time and out of breath
She couldn't whisper a scream
The slamming door spoke the words
she couldn't say
They were headed where the wounded run.
But the scars never heal
Where does love go to die
She left a key on the table and unsolicted memories
Neither of which he wanted
Left again with what he didn't need.
It wasn't in the stars
There was no ace up his sleeve
He wrote it off as a lesson of life.
Using his pen full of unlearned ink.
How many tears does it take to drown the pain
First suspect is twisted fate
When you're pointing the blame
Saying it's better to have loved and lost
Depends on how deep a wound you've sustained
Sometimes the flower just isn't worth the rain
I wonder;
why we waste time, we have so little at all,
I wonder;
if there really is a crystal ball.
I wonder;
about things brewing beneath will it erupt?
I wonder;
what becomes of the underdeveloped?
I wonder
how much of life is motivated by inequalities of power,
I wonder;
if there really is an ivory tower.
I wonder;
why emotional pain you feel physical,
I wonder;
why love has to be so cynical.
I wonder;
what a miracle really looks like.
I wonder;
why they call us a dyke.
I wonder;
if I will ever grow up,
I wonder;
if I will drink from the golden cup.
I wonder;
what makes a person hate,
I wonder;
why you would tempt the hand of fate.
I wonder;
why I'm angry my whole life,
I wonder;
why I miss my wife.
I wonder;
why love makes it hard to breathe,
I wonder;
if my opponent has something up his sleeve.
I wonder;
if I'm living or slowly dying,
I wonder;
why people give up without even trying.
TURBO1904
The toughest thing about Homer’s Odyssey
Is that it is written in Greek
The trouble with mine it seems
It’s written in words ya can’t speak
For Homer had Satyr’s and Harpies
And trickery tucked up his sleeve
While I, in the midst of confession
Told lies that “No-man” would believe
And yet still I strive for I’m still alive
While Homer has yellowed with age
With all of his writings now high on a shelf
While I pen bad poems on a page
For some demon’s are, and some demon’s ain’t
Deserving of historic note
But all of them alter the truth with their “taint”
So, get off your fat asses and vote