Long Wearers Poems
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I spent all day shopping for a ruby,
it's my wife's birthstone; nothing else will do.
And I wish to find a true paragon,
though flawless rubies are scarce and few.
I'm hoping for a pigeon-blood red gem
that is as rare and unblemished as she.
And I checked each jewelry shop in town,
but that perfect jewel eluded me.
I was almost ready to give up, when
I spied a cabochon that caught my eye.
A magnificent, resplendent gemstone,
so exquisite, I couldn't pass it by.
Flickering fiery flames frozen in time,
rubies symbolize passionate feelings.
And imbue wearers with a zest for life,
granting favors in romantic dealings.
When I gave my wife the ruby, she wept
tears of joy and wrapped her arms around me.
And culminating with the sweetest kiss
fantasy morphed into reality.
(Quatrain)
07/06/2020
She whispered to me, "I hope you suffer well."
God heard her words, and he smiled,
for if suffering is what she wanted for me,
her hopes would soon be smothered in hell.
To give my best to those I loved,
It meant walking away to save a life,
when an evil person who wore a mask,
threatened to me to take their lives.
This very thing it happened to me,
no one knew or could they see,
their lives would be threatened If I told,
about the evil things that I saw unfold.
I made a choice and told it all,
a mask wearer amongst them still walks,
I'm happy to say I will never regret,
In an eight by ten room is where it rots.
The day will soon come when I've gone,
the mask wearers mask will slip with smiles,
but it'll be too late for I will tell,
though I'll never hope for all to "suffer well."
Evilness can hide inside those we know,
they hide it well with lies they tell,
they claim their the victim by tears they show,
whilst scheming with a devil who sleeps in a cell.
Women are a treasure, its true the whole world through' made to Gods good
pattern, He imbued them as lifegivers too with the proclivity to nurture,. With emotions so; raw and rife.' At times Headstrong then seeming helpless' intuitive and versatile, i have seen them come smiling through so much strife.' Flawed
Man as i am, i often read them wrong.' Encouragers, provocatures, I find on the
Whole describing them ad-finitum now a job hard and long.' To enumerate all their qualitys, yet also irs such a great blast.' As they are wearers of high fashion, yet don overalls on farms..Some embraced tbe atoll bikini causing almost; world atomic
Alarms.! Some are reserved and
academic cooks and bakers too' seamstresses and
Florists the doctor who cares, to do.? I beleive they are as
A social glue, holding many of lifes facets
true' also homemakers did i forget? They are prominent at protests'
I am trying to be expansive here yet...Maybe its the best i'll
Get.? There is so much they have accomplished
' they're not just cookie cutouts of men ' they hold their
Own inalianable validation. Its been the same since
Way back when.' Just as Rahab lowered the spies
Down, then scarlet cords that Joshua could see' she was
More than just a professional' she had true compassion and
Just maybe.? The need to beleive.? Also the ancestor of Jesus
I'll have to leave it there, a conundrum to the self-righteousness
The world has in oodles.' And it seems
more to spare' a place that takes great pains in promoting
( certain labels? And how to be') in such the
best. Its a sort of feast? A cornucopia
of odditys
That advances humanity to a stage.. Yet
not for the
Very best, there is still war and death and pestilence
Famine fear and doubt, mis-engineered social experiments
And much it seems? to ' hate on and
about ' have i read of this someplace other?
In the past, somewhere before? My mind observes
Lines of ancient scrioture..While in my mouth there
Is a real musty taste for sure.)
Serving my father's land is a badge of honour
—this I wear with pride,
Like a radiant star shining bright in the darkness.
The call to duty was music to my ears,
A melody of purpose,
—this echoed the sacrifices my mother made;
Now resonating with the pride my father would have felt
if he were still with us.
But, like a fleeting dream;
the thought of life after the one-year call haunts me.
I envision many of my comrades,
Who were once zealous and full of hope,
Now relegated to the fringes
—their degrees gathering dust like autumn leaves.
Some have become mere shadows of their former selves—
Ferrying market women and farmers,
like rowboats adrift in a stormy sea.
Others, once proud wearers of 'Kakis and Singlets,'
now don the cloak of despair—
Their skills reduced to chasing rodents in the farm,
like a farmer's dog.
The irony is palpable – education,
Which was once the golden key to unlocking their dreams,
Now taunts them like a mirage on a desert highway.
Oh! God!
If you could grant me one wish,
Let the smiles of those who answered the clarion call
remain carved on their faces forever,
A testament to the power of purpose,
even when the winds of uncertainty howl
like a chorus of restless spirits.
My glasses are for distance;
I remove them when I read.
I couldn’t drive without them, though –
That much is guaranteed.
Yet when I sit down for a meal,
My glasses have to go.
They bother me when eating,
Although why, I do not know.
It’s really quite annoying
In a restaurant, ‘cause hey –
I don’t know where to put them
Where they won’t get in the way.
There’s only so much table space
And it seems like a pain
To have them hung around my neck
On some fahcocta* chain.
I guess they’d rest upon my head
But they’d mess up my hair.
I wouldn’t feel too comfortable
If they were perched up there.
If I rated all my problems,
This is bottom of the slate,
But I’m sure that there are other
Glasses-wearers who’d relate.
*ridiculous
Books are passé’, Grandma!
No one uses them anymore
Let’s burn them all.
It was one of the hood wearers.
The older woman was shocked to her core.
She had never gotten used to the I-pads, I-pods or I-phones.
Let me show you what we do with them,
The Hood Wearer said.
He lit one on fire
Holding it up so she could see how he felt about it.
But what if the Internet goes down? The older woman asked.
She was not even a grandma, never having had children.
The Hood Wearer let out a loud laugh
Dropping the book at her feet.
She threw water on it and saved what she could
Because she had been taught to save everything
She watched him throwing other people’s books on the fire
And was amazed at how easy others had been to persuade.
My soul filled with pride and my eyes misted as the parade passed in review.
'Twas the annual hometown Veterans Day Parade that I was privileged to view.
Veterans, young and old marched behind the flag that they vowed to defend.
They sacrificed so much to uphold the liberties we enjoy in this land!
A Medal of Honor recipient served as Marshal for the parade.
Lively music provided by the local high school band was played.
An honor guard led the procession with Old Glory held high.
Old veterans along the street saluted with a proud tear in their eye!
There were survivors from the December 1941 Pearl Harbor Affair.
No doubt this day recalled memories of comrades who yet lie sleeping there.
Grizzled heroes of The Battle of the Bulge marched proudly with resolute stride.
Wearers of the Purple Heart rode aboard a float with heads held high with pride!
A company of Korean War vets marched representing the war in which they served.
Viet Nam vets received long overdue plaudits from the crowd they so well deserved.
Young men and women still on active duty, some barely out of their teens,
Represented the Army, Navy, Coast Guard, Air Force and United States Marines!
Those gnarled hands that once held the terrible weapons of war,
Now beckoned for peace that we shall know war no more.
The hardships they suffered for liberty's sake we shall never know.
So much, so very much to each of these brave men and women we owe!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I’d soon disappear were mine Dor’thy shoes,
Fitted glass-sandals in apricot hue,
When clicked together ask wearers to choose,
Any fantasized place where dreams come true;
Outer-space, maybe, might orbit me right,
Closer to heaven and farther from here,
And death-grips wouldn’t need strangle so tight,
Since each dimension should have a neck-spare;
Or destinations, perhaps less stupid,
Where bunnies lay eggs while fat-men drink milk,
And arrows find fannies noticed by Cupid,
Whose boxers are made from Italian silk.
Nope, there’s no trouble afoot in my dome –
I’m simply sayin’ there’s no place like home.
- Just a fruitful vent (no judging) :)
English women love their hats,
From commoner to Queen;
If you watched William’s wedding,
Then you know just what I mean.
From wild and wacky to sedate,
The headgear called attention;
Most were classy - stylish, too,
And some defied convention.
The Queen was garbed in yellow,
With her hat a matching hue;
Camilla’s was humongous,
Partly hiding her from view.
Some chapeaus were feathery
And warn with jaunty flair.
Others tried to make their wearers
Seem quite debonair.
Princess sisters looked a sight;
One’s hat resembled snakes.
Maybe when they see the pics,
They’ll realize their mistakes.
Still, many hats were wonderful
And made me want to wear one.
If I lived in England, why,
I’d likely have a spare one.
A British mum with daughter
Would be wise if she’d instill in her
The skills and knowledge it would take
To one day be a milliner!
Ilene Bauer (http://primetimerhyme.blogspot.com)
in the mouth of desire, inverted spires
lean toward the grots of Hell.
tongues forked, skewered with sapphires
in the mouth of desire, inverted spires.
Adam's apple burning cores, as moths for martyrdom's fires.
on the path to perdition: many had attended well.
in the mouth of desire, manipulation stirs.
the crone fanning her cauldron
a hot vat of ruin, Wiccan shrieks and whirs.
in the mouth of desire, manipulation stirs -
a warlock's cherished heart of burrs,
tears of crocodiles, his every gentleness abandoned.
in the mouth of desire, sirens sweet, curses
lure purple wearers and weavers, beasts with saints,
low_down to the broad gates, gilt black, swinging purses.
in the mouth of desire, sirens' sweet curses
but wisdom's rare jewels, bereft in their verses.
for want of wisdom, man's sovereign will faints.