upon the Rase a troublesome crone
who meddled in the Rasen folk
for she a witch!
a witch! their slant and well
she laid upon a cow a cursied blight
a cursied spell
and lo would not this neighbour’s cow
go to the milking parlour so
this neighbour’s daughter fraught and fair
to seek a wise man, she that hour
left in haste to hear of words
and met with him though quite by chance
for he appeared to her when needed
invited in somewhat expected
and knew did he of her unrest
as heating in the fireplace a red hot poker
readying
and stoked, enflamed the fire roared
and from by the Rase the witch was heard
to scream and cry
you see now in her weakened state
another troubled Rasener
took heed upon the lowered crone
and struck her hand with a blade had he
and brought to her all of her eves
that drew the blood of taintedness
and scream once more
then again made three
no more trouble will she cause
said the wiseman confidently
and the witch skulked away
her powers lost
made free were then the Rasen folk
and the cow went in to give them milk
(Battle of Antietam, Sharpsburg, Maryland, September 17, 1862; 2,100 Union dead, 1550 Confederate dead)
the day September seventeenth
in eighteen sixty-two
found stalks of corn in Maryland
grown high as horses' heads
while rebel soldiers clad in gray,
invaders to this place,
stood vigil in dawn's wispy mists
as quiet Sharpsburg slept
when from the creek Antietam
charged boldly Stars-and-Stripes
so all-day-through fierce battle raged
in pasture, corn, and road
till sunset quelled the violence,
loud cannon-thunder ebbed,
replaced by floods of helpless moans
from maimed and wounded men
while from the carnage rebels skulked
across Potomac's flow
to breathe their safe Virginia air
as blue-clad victors wept
and set about the burials
of dead, both gray and blue,
three-thousand plus six hundred more
American souls lost
that day, September seventeenth,
in eighteen sixty-two.
You skulked down the hidden backstreets of rationality,
peering through the keyholes of human decency,
and crawled in through the sewers of thought,
to whisper your name to the unsuspecting innocent,
filling them with the fear of discontented oppression.
“We are America, So up Yours!” was your battle cry
and the naive jump aboard your pretentious parade.
Fake news…
Fake hair…
FAKE TRUTH!
Maybe we should have ‘read HIS lips’.
Wall them out, or wall us in…that is the question.
Oh yes, my dear friend William,
we are truly suffering the slings and arrows,
of outrageous buffoonery.
Do we now take up arms and light the battle fires of resistance?
Or do we sleep…
Perchance to dream.
Be careful what you dream for.
Written 3/10/2017
Luanda 1975
It was a fraught time in Luanda, the rebel army (freedom fighters)
was closing in on Luanda, leaving civilians exposed
to rape, murder and pillage.
The Portuguese army had dastardly skulked away and
General Spinola was in Lisbon playing politics
Colonialism was over, but there was fear of its ending
when hatred had to be sated.
Among the white population, there was a fatalistic mien
drowning their fear like the sinking Titanic, loud music, booze
and dancing, everything to live a little longer.
Then came the Germans (foreign legion) took charge
staved off the incoming, undisciplined riff-raff army
long enough for people to get on ships and planes to get
the hell out; as for the Germans found their way out to
South Africa.
The aftermath:
When hatred of the colonials subsided, the new Angola
found they needed the know-how of the settlers they
were invited back.
Today, thousands of Portuguese live to thrive in harmony
with the black population,
Old sins have a long shadow
The old gnarled woman spat
You will see punishment
In a year and a day as a matter of fact
Into the gloomy night with a full moon
I skulked away with much to think about
I looked up at the new moon wondering
About the words the old woman let out
I decided not to think about what she said
And went back to my lonely life
The grind of work carried me on
As I dealt with each unwanted strife
As the last day dawned I awoke
The brightening sky heralded the day
So I dressed and drove toward the sun
I looked at my phone as the sky darkened away
And that is where it ended
For what was left was uncomprehended
For in the darkness I sit and wait
Wondering if that was all to contemplate .
© Paul Warren Poetry
The portcullis skulked up and down, with incisors twice.
Welcomed in victory; treachery was his victor. He’d sink low.
Rose petals bow under carriage wheels of friend, now foe.
To kiss the crown, the betrothal princess, he paid the price.
To kiss the crown, the betrothal princess, he paid the price.
Rose petals bow under carriage wheels of friend, now foe.
Welcomed in victory; treachery was his victor. He’d sink low.
The portcullis skulked up and down, with incisors twice.
8/10/2020
MIRROR MIRROR Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Lawless
In another lifetime, I was there
As sudsy clothes, a’jumble,
Went round and round until removed
In damp and twisted tumble.
Into the dryers they would go
While I just sat there, reading,
To help the time go by so boredom
Skulked away, receding.
When dry, the folded sheets and such
Into my cart were nestled
And schlepped to my apartment,
Up five flights I daily wrestled.
We moved within a year to where
Our building’s basement hosted
A bevy of machines to which
An elevator coasted.
Yet when I pass the laundromat
There’s surely no debating
That I don’t miss those days of carts
And inconvenient waiting.
We worked together
in the airless cubicle gulag
on the surface of the moon
during the last ice age
Diligently scurrying under
the bright artificial lights
composing odes to poverty
with great purpose and poise
Dodging the executive ghouls
who skulked the narrow halls
Lon Chaney and Boris Karloff
howling as the villagers fled
But there he would be
in a state of perpetual calm
absorbing the vortex of chaos
a tall black-skinned Buddha
Always the one to rise above
the daily details and deviations
always keeping his balance
even with one foot in the air
An open and private man
I never got to know well
some glimpses and peeks
but the film never developed
Filled with a sly dry humor
engaged to illuminate not shame
the spark in his dark pupils
came from a clarity of heart
His was a living credo of resolve
of stepping back not rushing forward
an involved evolving philosophy
in quiet and thoughtful motion
I will miss him
I will think of him
whenever I take a leap
and am not sure where to land
At last, the breeze is cool enough
To garner some respect,
Though it's not here for very long,
The forecasters suspect.
Another heat wave's on its way
'Cause from what I recall,
This very often happens
As the summer turns to fall.
I so enjoy this little taste
Of cool; what a relief!
The heat has skulked away
Without a word, just like a thief.
But just as thieves will strike again,
Especially when dared,
We must remember summer's
Still around, and be prepared.
A little chill has crept inside
Since summer's skulked away.
At first a sweatshirt does the trick
To keep the cold at bay.
But finally I must give in,
Admitting my defeat,
For up go the electric bills
When we turn on the heat.
The rocket scientist looked in dismay as the rocket lay in a smolderin' heap!
'Twas fired t'ward Mars but was not to be - 'twas enow' to make a man weep!
As he skulked back to his office to figger out what went wrong,
A thought rattled thro' his skull settin' off a clangin' gong!
"The consarned thing is like some guv'mint workers I know!" he uttered!
"They won't work and you can't fire 'em!" under his breath he muttered!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
There once was a vampire called Vincent
Finding true love was his main intent
As he skulked through the night
Causing women a fright
Biting necks was how he chose to vent
One night Vincent met up with a lady
You might say her job was rather shady
Soon she said what the heck
And she offered her neck
Then he gave her a thrill hot as Hades!
She fell in love as he sucked her blood
Vincent too as he felt his heart thud
Now he was quite love-struck
Could not believe his luck
She made him feel like some vampire stud!
*for Halloween Limerick contest
sponsored by John Freeman
The Fox turned and looked at me
And skulked away sheepishly
Through the woods I walked
All quiet as breezes stalked
Branch to branch birds play
For my ears they sing the day
Amidst the trees in golden bands
The sun it beats, my heart it lands
Butterflies, Midges, flight my eye
Above the canopy bright blue sky
Flowers stretch their necks for rain
Evenings fall and dew will gain
Quiet times these sentient hours
At total peace in natures powers
Of perfect pace and harmony
I place my feet in empathy
Wiley Fox has just come back
One last glance down the track
Inquisitive eye asks who are you
I smile and walk, just as you do
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