Long Up to snuff Poems
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On a Good Friday at 3PM
He was called into the office by
Pontius Pilate and told that he would be put to death.
He had waited for the execution and worked the full week after being
warned that he would be fired if his production and sales were not
up to snuff.
He was hired with four other wise men and women to
turn an upstart company around and save it from the greedy bankers.
He had hope in his heart because he left employment with another and thought it
would be fruitful on the other side.
Pontius Pilate had wooed him with big money and promised him the stars.
Just about everyone loved their products and it would be an easy sale like
children pitching low-hanging fruit from a tree.
But after one month Pontius Pilate changed her course and said that the
Honeymoon was over. One among their ranks had told him that he was their hero
and would emulate him and dress like him. But he knew that this female Judas
would betray him when he dreamed that she would fall from his favor.
Judas was from the professional teaching world and she said that she was in adequate working in sales. She would call sales meeting to learn their motives and work late and holidays in the office while bending the ear of Pontius Pilate.
Pontius Pilate believed everything said to her because Judas was producing sales
but stealing fruit from the others. This did not matter to Pontius Pilate as her
golden calf and state of affairs was being threatened by the Jesus lovers.
On the advice of Judas- Pontius Pilate set her plans into motion and publicly
falsely accused the three wise men
of being bad sales people and spoke of
their elimination. They were accused three times on three separate days before
3 PM.
Like strange fruit he was called into the office by Pontius Pilate and her political
advisor Menenius and duly told that this is not personal but he must die. The one
sacrificed did not have much to say but thanked them for the opportunity and
that he will rise up in three days.
"I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die.
In "The Shootist", J.B. Books is not feeling up to snuff.
He has cancer. What are the concerns
of a man dying.
To die
commensurate with the way he lived his life.
Books dies in a gunfight.
McIntosh dies in the desert, under a broken wagon,
fighting Indians.
Norman Thayer will die of heart failure
by the side of his wife, Ethel.
Two police officers
die investigating a stolen moped at a gas station
in the Bronx.
One buys it between the eyes, the other in the back.
The killer out on early parole
from a manslaughter rap.
The DA blames the judge, the judge blames the parole board,
and the board says the jails are overcrowded.
What should I be doing, old turtle.
Devote myself to re-order the world
or crawl off to a lonely spot and preserve myself.
We are trying
to educate everyone to their individual capacities
and see that all are fed, clothed and sheltered adequately.
Because the suffering of one citizen makes suffering
for another, the slow death of one sometimes makes
the sudden murder of another.
There is this
black rock we live on and its lovely mantle of green.
It is all that is perfect. And everything of it is
perfect that respects its integrity. On the subway
I was amused to find, hidden in the confused
mass of anonymous, bleak graffiti, unseen
by the studied, expressionless passengers,
in pink, delicate script, vertically written,
the word *****.
People are the element I live in.
The world is pushy, we are bone,
the numbers of us overwhelm.
It is going to be hot again soon
and the Bronx will actively resent it.
Books dies in Carson City,
only two or three people will miss him at all.
He died alone as he lived,
with his enemies.
Hubby was talking about the job he was at: when he suddenly…
Got into the ‘Computer Programmers Mode’. Where absolutely…
Everything became ‘DITS & DOTS, and DARS & FARS’…
No more caffeine for Hubby any time this week, at home!
This lingo of his, only belongs at work, where he IS an Uber Geek.
But here at home… you gotta know… he’s only talking to me!
It must be like the dreams he has, with reams and reams of code.
And tables of papers are stacked to the ceiling, or maybe to his nose.
It’s an APP-APP here, and an APP-APP there, to tie the Data to his code.
Make it go faster! Make it go smarter! In his own little world, you know.
His eyes have glazed, as his fingers flash over his fancy keyboard at home.
If only me, his little old wifey- poo, could get such attention as this, to know.
At least, he keeps my computers running, like crazy, and way up to snuff!
Now if only he’d give me the time of day… to get my own work done.
With a type-type here, and a type-type there: I definitely blow his mind.
He’d fix my typing, if only he could, with a new app, well designed.
The ‘Trouble with Tribbles’ is nothing, as when confronting an Uber Geek.
Microsoft falls into a hush, as they whisper out his name and fame complete.
For Halloween, he hooks up electronics, with apps to animated programming…
Never Fear! Hubby’s here! Next, the Turkey will be clucking binary coding.
He made Santa a GPS, which goes to mars and beyond: It’s simply otherworldly.
But now he’s talking in binary code… I hope Hubby’ll land home, soon, surely.
For with DITs & DOTS, and DARS & FARS it’s getting way past midnight.
I know he’ll be back to earth soon, tho, for it’s time to say goodnight!
Now, as a general rule, sergeants are rather decent guys,
Compassionate, reasonable to a degree and uncommonly wise.
But woe to the private who incurs a sergeant's wrath;
That young feller is destined to tread a very treacherous path!
For minor infractions, privates are relegated to the latrine,
To scrub and polish therein to make it squeaky clean!
A prudent private daren't give his sergeant any sass,
Or he'll push a lawnmower, cutting acres of never-ending grass!
If in close-order drill and saluting he is less than deft,
The sergeant will nix his pass, leaving the lad bereft!
Lord have mercy if buttons are missing from his uniform;
That will incite the sergeant into a massive, raging storm!
If he fails barracks inspection, he'd best not make any plans,
For he'll be in the dining hall scrubbing pots and pans!
If his haircut is not up to snuff, that'll add to his plight;
He'll be pacing his post on guard throughout the lonely night!
Although some sergeants are more endearing than many others,
And some it seems could be loved only by their mothers,
A canny private will play the game and abide with all the guff,
Praying his hitch will end, never more to suffer all that fluff!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Written By: D. Collins 2/14/19
When you first peep it, its like, what's up with that?
Keep eyes on it, but keep it under your hat.
Sit back and observe, then connect the dots.
Release a team only loyal to a human robot.
Through all the drama, keep your mouth shut.
Let the targets, solely, bring you up to snuff.
They keep doing what they do, thinking you're not there.
Reach out and touch a few, proving you ain't going nowhere.
Then you lower the net to catch all of the fish.
Those who lie under oath, dig their own ditch.
If they only knew, you already have the goods.
"I Don't Recall" ain't working like it once could.
Don't get bored, we are getting to the climax.
All the little fish will note proficiencies they lack.
And, when you put it on paper, right in their face.
The only thing left to say is, "I REST MY CASE".
You kept me from being alone,
You listened to my silliness though,
All you asked was a belly rub,
And a blue boy to tear up and throw.
You weathered your blinding eyes,
Then one morning you woke but could not see,
For the last year or so I led you, “This way, this way,”
But with your pluck you found your way without me.
We called your odd supper “bean beans,”
Yogurt and applesauce mixed in,
For that’s what you were fed by a rescue
A little stray in my neighborhood but my win.
And I ached for you when we both slowed down,
I couldn’t take you for walks, but you understood,
You will never know what your unconditional love did for me.
You never could, you never, never could.
And now you are gone,
I found you fallen by your bowl,
I knew you hadn’t been “up to snuff,”
But I thought you’d get better and so
The house is silent now though you are everywhere.
No little snores, but still under my feet.
The loneliness is killing my soul with tears,
I just can’t say “goodbye” little sweet.
Annie died on October 4, 2018, about 5:30 p.m. after eating a good supper. She had fallen “asleep” by her water bowl.
You kept me from being alone,
You listened to my silliness though,
All you asked was a belly rub,
And a blue boy to tear up and throw.
You weathered your blinding eyes,
Then one morning you woke but could not see,
For the last year or so I led you, “This way, this way,”
But with your pluck you found your way without me.
We called your odd supper “bean beans,”
Yogurt and applesauce mixed in,
For that’s what you were fed by a rescue
A little stray in my neighborhood but my win.
And I ached for you when we both slowed down,
I couldn’t take you for walks, but you understood,
You will never know what your unconditional love did for me.
You never could, you never, never could.
And now you are gone,
I found you fallen by your bowl,
I knew you hadn’t been “up to snuff,”
But I thought you’d get better and so
The house silent now though you are everywhere.
No little snores, but still under my feet.
The loneliness is killing my soul with tears,
I just can’t say “goodbye” little sweet.
Annie died on October 4, 2018, about 5:30 p.m. after eating a good supper. She had fallen “asleep” by her water bowl.
The Marketplace of Thought!
Don’t I love who I’m open to - would share soul with (somehow in words -
in poetry, revealing me)? Must I place worth on goods ‘vain’ hawk
to earn a look? Let self-regard be life’s canard! God Loves such cheer?
May I find wealth in other’s health (I pray), by Grace of God’s intent,
not courted rhymes that plague our times, end freedom found in ‘Will of God’
(that lights all life)! Oh, bless the ways God’s muse serves days! Count that enough!
My labor’s mark you think a lark (not worth fool’s ink or up to snuff)?
What you begrudge, I would not judge. I serve my truth! Is it so odd
that’s what I’d share? Your truth is yours if it’s just Coors (in lieu of rent)!
But rent’s still due (my point of view!) I’m happy though to share a beer,
not make you wrong (to me, love’s song!) reciprocate without a squawk.
Life shared’s a chance to change the past, hoist sail up mast, view world like birds!
Long Tooth
October 14th in 2022
Poet's Notes:
Another poem with distant rhyme and note too that each line has an internal rhyme as well! What fun!
He always kept a special place within his heart for church
when every time he felt that way he'd rush away in search
That every time a woman yelled he wasn't up to snuff
he'd go away to church that way and pray she's not enough
That on his way to pray that way
he'd never felt so simple
When saying he himself's that way
was standing up for simple
That on his way to see there's more
for kindness that's quite simple
He knew that they were very fierce
and bold enough to cripple
That he would find a way to go
for not to be as little
When kindness for his church would say
they're shelter from the whittle
And Terry knew to find his way
for losing pain he had
When he would say the one true God
is just what he'd kill sad
Welcome to a world where brute strength isn’t quite enough
All your fears you didn’t know you had make sure you’re up to snuff
Take a look at all your allies and step forward now
Deep within the center of this world’s where you will show
Courage from a Paladin’s blade
Wisdom from magic obtained
Deep in this world so foreign
Ancestry; your test shall begin
Have you given up on those you have now left for dead?
If you were completely alone, would you continue to tread
On the path you never would have thought you would explore?
Or would you just sacrifice all that you’re fighting for?
Soldiers combat for the goal
A world razed until all is cold
Prevention is why they all fight
Heroes from the blue unite.