Hiram Sims Poems

10: 53 am Contraction
10: 59 am Contraction

Your Mother is having me time these for the doctor, but I will probably turn this into a poem.
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What Shall they say in demise?
Shall trumpet roar, and drummers blare
the country’s pain upon their snare?
Shall roses pour into the wind
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I love the Police. Even the word sounds so sweet Po-Li-Ce
I love the way they flash that bright white light in my face when they ride pass me- checking to make sure I’m black, and fortunately for me in a car with other black men.
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In Life there are those things which God creates
That which he fashioned with his touch Divine
Knowing with certainty the things he made
Would never falter, stand the test of time
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Sometimes God grants me blessings, some so profound, you see
That I cannot begin to know why God gave them to me
But I receive them gladly, and pray the Lord won’t choose
To take away the precious things I can’t afford to lose
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I find it a privilege to be among the breathing
To walk among the inhalers and exhalers of these latter days
And having gone to sleep and woken up 9490 mornings in a row
I look forward to the heaven and hell that waits for me at my front door
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I write these words to God and him alone
Surveyor of my soul, my prince of peace
Who pours his blessings on my troubled soul
and grants forgiveness for my heart’s release
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I sho nuff hates a man hoo wastes his lyfe duwin nuthin
Whaches dat box all day instead wukin lyka man aught too
Dese young peoples tuday whonts evathang handed to ‘em
But dey aint willin to wuk fo it
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Everyday I think of what I need
Those things I know for sure God will provide
Because he said as long as I loved him
He’d never see my humble needs denied
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Hail to James Ragan, King MPW
Retired now, but not from memory.
The first poet to have a steady job
teaching young troubled minds by western sea.
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