the two were a best match
opposites attract, interest meets
the two tried to leave one another but
the two were tubed
lessons learned, trials faced but
they always found a way
through groups and tribes
new faces and towns
nobody ever cliqued like the two
I am black and proud! Oh Yes.
I will sing it loud all years.
Black is my skin calling.
Out of black love you will never see me falling.
I am a black tattoo inside out.
I stay black whether I bleach it out.
Because I’m not the melanin you see,
But the cranium and genes you don’t see.
It’s my color not skin reaction.
I have been black since creation,
Way before brown was the new black.
Before witches rode on hyenas back.
Before I got tubed in my father’s loin,
I was black even in my Gods' plan.
I will stay black at what cost,
"Black me back" if you see me lost.
Because that’s true love if I love me.
Pride is bad but am proud of me.
Her back to me, she gazed transfixed
at the poplars through the window.
Should I intrude? Then she turned full,
full of tears.
I'd seen her before, masked and tubed,
transfused, others striving for her;
no expression, without outlook,
so dormant.
Now the May morning overwhelmed
her. Trees last seen bare and dormant,
so green, so vibrant, so vivid,
now alive.
There beside her a new person.
“Never has it been so good to
be alive.” And to know it with
tears of joy.
How could she give thanks enough for
so much intensive skill and care?
We praised God and blessed a new life
gifted to her.
As I soared at forty-thousand feet strapped in the aluminum-tubed aerie,
Racing through my skull was a tune made famous by Peter, Paul and Mary!
They made leaving on a jet plane sound so very romantic and swell!
Contrary to their soothing ballad, mine was the flight from hell!
Ah, the thrill of going through the security check still lingers,
Recalling a most "touching" pat-down by Freddy Feely Fingers!
I had to remove my belt, shoes and the change from my pockets,
And open my carry-on bag to prove I had no guns or rockets!
I was "squoze" betwixt two guys leaning on my shoulders snoring!
One was built like Hulk Hogan - the other as fat as Herman Goring!
A squalling kid hollered for the entire trip! I suffered beyond belief!
I ordered a Manhattan on the Rocks in hopes of finding blessed relief!
About the flight, I told Betty Boop the attendant, "I'm tired of this fuss!
Next time I travel I'll skip all this nonsense and ride a Greyhound bus!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
NOTE: I've suffered through many such flights wondering if the agony
would ever end!
Entry for Debbie Guzzi's "Songs to Poetry" Contest
In certain countries, they bombard
The populace with police and guard.
I wonder how they would regard
A woman who just loves to fard.
Perhaps her face is acne-scarred
Or freckled, blotched or wrinkle-marred;
Would she be feathered (after tarred)
Because she takes the time to fard?
We women know that life is hard.
From certain places, we are barred.
Yet female rights we can’t discard
And one remains the right to fard!
So next time, on the boulevard,
Or even in your own backyard,
Just flaunt what once was tubed or jarred
And show the world how well you fard!
*to fard: to paint the face with cosmetics
(a word I’d never heard before)
First ghost was his wife,
to whom he was sworn,
fading, thin, bandaged,
in the far northern city.
tubed in another world or no world.
Nurses and social worker
urged him to chose life.
But the deep promises linger,
in pictures with cheery captions
from his children.
He tosses in bed
and lets the quilt
slide off his legs.
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