Short Customary Poems

fingers tingling from the bitterly cold
lingering before fireplace
craving buttered popcorn

Written October 20, 2022...

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Behind a customary pen that bites
    its victims, left to bleed
  in alleys dark, lurks a 
    denizen of forest nights ~
    his sonnets' radiance, purest white...

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At medieval funerals, it was customary for women
To scratch their own cheeks until bleeding so it's written
Sounds gruesome to me
Weird? Well slap my knee
Back then they must have practiced masochism...

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It is the same as 2.54 inches.
It is part of the metric system,
Which is also called a SI unit.
This type of measure is more accurate,
Than the English or U.S. customary.
Scientists use SI units or metrics system,
Unvoluntary....

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Tell

 me not

 how to think

 Above all else

 don't attempt to make

 me conform to the 'norm'

 I won't perform in your form

 For individuality

 is my strength and customary song

 Freedom suits me fine. It's where I belong....

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They altered her name to match with his'. 
They changed her biological parents to avoid interclan. 
Everyone said that it's customary and she has to get down to it. 
She quivered like a withered leaf on a cold winter's night - couldn't escape the chillness....

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Magenta buds wait their turn on birch trees stately
    while cedars' spines soar skyward so straightly

  Barren branches of oaks sans customary green
    yet shiver while down low tulips blossom and preen

  Spring shows off her wares at varying stages
    a coloring book for adults of all ages...

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From the help spilled forth customary whines
Moaned that their duties were fraught with deadlines
   That it couldn't be worse
   If they were in a hearse!
Time to exchange their complaints for complines





Note: 'Complines' are evening prayers traditionally
          recited before retiring for the night....

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"Silent Cal" Coolidge was known for holding phrase to a dearth!

   Presiding at laying a cornerstone he turned the customary spade of earth.

      The crowd eagerly awaited his remarks.  He thought and finally did affirm,

         As he strolled to his car, saying, "My, that was a mighty fine fishing worm!"

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved...

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You'd inspire a fanciful thread for a poem,
You are analogous to each discrete totem,
And, precisely, like every preceding being,
You are quirky; no other soul is apt to tying,
You become entangled in the customary,
And, an emphasis entails the precursory. 

Written; February 19, 2022

Bite Size Poem No.37 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier...

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I didn’t wake up dead this morning,
my back is no worse than yesterday.
A few customary moans and groans
as I reach the breakfast table.
My spouse is as cheerful as ever,
she hops around like a song sparrow
while I glower.
A cup of dark Columbian
I have to admit that those ordinary miracles
Ordinary miracles are on their job
and I am thusly blessed to be
Gods special little guy....

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Customary or misquoted, What hand shall be dealt in this game of shenanigans people playing games are often questionable of one’s ulterior motives. Is it because of one’s anger, disappointments ascending, descending contemplating should the unknown accept the facts and move on or continuously deceive inner-self and remain on and off tasks contemplating who is playing the games if shenanigans....

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Lackluster is my middle name
You see, I’m rather ordinary
To renown I have no claim,
I’m to be expected, customary.
Some call me rather mediocre
In truth, I know I’m mundane
Certainly not a powerbroker,
I’ll be unquestionably plain,
Admitting I’m not very smart
But I do know my way around
And, friends, I’ve a good heart
My feet firmly on solid ground.

Written August 24, 2022...

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I didn’t wake up dead this morning,
my backs no worse than yesterday.
A few customary moans and groans
as I reach the breakfast table.
My spouse is as cheerful as ever,
she hops around like a song sparrow
while I glower silently.
After a cup of dark Columbian
I have to admit that the day
might turn out okay.
Ordinary miracles are on their job,
and I am thusly blessed to be
Gods special little guy....

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Listen to poem:

*Image of Spa Coconut Bath Tubs by Pixabay.

The Spa: Fibonacci-Rhyme

The
Spa
when used
be confused
by most first-timers
yet not a case for old-timers.
As timetables vary per clients customary,
employees plan on weekly, shifts expected, with clientele care to be primary.

2022 January 14

HMS; 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, syllables....

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LETTERINGS
expressing
 the
  vulnerable
impressions
in
a
  customary
sophisticated
interplay

surfaces
  draped
frozen
 in contrasts
natural
  unaware
as
light
  dispenses
mercy
intimidation
subordinate
to
aesthetics
focussed
then
  parting
with
passions
enslaced
albeit
leaning
    toward
longing
  &parting
&desire
underlining
in
solitary
fragmentd
desolate
  glimpses
met head on
...

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You may any nearby mess
Some tomorrow access
Just to cleanly assess 
Their customary dress …

Still it is an easy guess,
What they wear at officers’ mess:
More of a liberating mufti than less;
The Civilly Military for Easeful Recess …

A body cover to unfailingly bless
But fail to grant “A Dress”,
Because it does slowly impress
And wearer’s skeleton does stress …

But wisely they wear at the mess
What you wash and need not press....

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His quit notice hung with a tack
Bears his landlord’s wish that he pack:
Disappear with his threadbare sack
And not leave behind his rack;
Both now strapped on his confused back,
His famous peace pierced with this hack!
No comforting whisky from a just left shack,
His belongings bespeaking his lack,
His dragging feet his customary slack,
As he keeps weighing a night at Hotel De Jack
Run by Abusive Jack,
Sometimes in a hurry worth a whack!...

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Just beneath a grassy meadow
That one time was a battlefield
Lies the bones of two unknown men
Still clothed in their tattered fatigues
in a shallow unnatural grave.
Unnatural because if buried
With the customary honors
There would have been two separate
grave sites with much deeper holes.
One of the uniforms was gray
In color, the other one blue.
It’s fair to assume that both men
Prayed to god for his own safety
But god does not take sides in war....

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Sunday Death

It's Sunday evening darkness
the natural light slipped away 
with customary cruelty
your life happiness your day

yet you've had yours already 
it began when Friday bore
with promises of Saturday
Friday night comes before

Now you wake Sunday morning
bitter sweet encased warm
conscious of times hammer
incessant on your hollow form

Monday will not be spoken
imagined or part way planned
because Sunday is deaths harbinger
in the modern mind of man...

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Afore twilight winged bugs
Come to rest
On a gently rippling creek 
Where placid mists acquiesced
And one horse carriages so sleek
Surrendered humanity’s finest 
Midnight sons to seek
Their customary agonist 
So renowned they were to sneak  

Neither humility nor unheard cries
Echo past the shop displays
Beyond the attendant sunrise
An unsightly game
It remains the same
All in a daze
For everyone sighs
And closes his eyes
In so many ways
And in so many days
Society dies...

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The first - a vain attempt to cleanse the soul.

The second - a customary rinse of sweat from a run.

The third - necessary defense against the itchy consequences of visiting a barber.

It's not that a shower is particularly special ... but so rare is the day that I'd take three.

Multiples of the mundane -
Suddenly charged with significance.

Might the days in my ordinary life
add to such a revelation sometime?

12 November 2022 (1 day prior was the subject of this poem, however)...

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