Stones In The Honeyed Ring Of Time
Sitting here dejected, mere pile of bones
pleasure, just memory in the dark past
Strip out each lie one polishes and hones
facing truth, nothing can forever last!
Stark reality of deeds soaked in slime
pain, a racing bird sent to torture me
Memories in the honeyed ring of time
everything costs dearly, nothing is free!
Evil are the chains wrapping my crushed Soul
Time, a sword cutting so deeply my heart
lost hope of any future winning goal
sad truth is ripping rest of me apart!
Pile of bones, only treasure I have got
smelling meat even after a slow rot!
Poem Syllable Counter Results
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 14 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically: N/A
Total # Words: 102
I walk the city streets with heavy feet,
drawn in grave thoughts of all I dare not ask
of kings watching on high with hearts concrete,
and sons who taunt from eyes through steely masks.
Their laws are not the laws of decent men.
These tyrants rule steadfast with ill-intent.
Like Herod’s bloody rule in Bethlehem,
the massacred are fallen innocent.
And when shall I awaken with my voice,
to speak for those who have no voice to tell
of brutal acts and minds without the choice,
to think of life above the depths of hell?
Still, heavy are my feet with soul and heart
as lips in protest slowly start to part.
"Talking Leaves" fasinated Sequoyah
A Cherokee who accomplished great feats
In noble deed stands tall like a sequoia
Though lame fought beside Jackson no defeat
Success in battle 'pon warrior's horse
Winner in defeating illiteracy
He had an alphabet to endorse
After ten years effort deliberate
When his enlightment brought light, joy flowed
Then the Cherokee printing press spread news
Knowledge spread and troubled brewed discord sowed
The beginning of the "Trail Of Tears" diffuse
Sequoyah intelligent lone warrior
Battled to make his tribe superior
Sponsor: Shanity Rain
Contest: Native American People
Written: November 12, 2013
Caught in the hidden trap of normality
Where the weird little freak inside can never be free
Are we really any better in this society?
With every unusual act we judge the worker bee
For daring to be different instead of the same
Wishing to be free of this copycat chain
With hears that vibrate and bodies refusing to resonate
When a mind is unique we begin to hate
Nobody wants to be ostracized so we act the same
Inside the higher self is paralysed by pain
With nothing to lose and everything to gain
Except all of your friends and disposition of sane
A SMILE OF TEARS
I wish I could catch a star
was the voice I heard as I sat on the grass
I look through the meadow
all I could see was her shadow
Walking up close
her mouth ajar, I could see her white teeth
A gash on the left side of her face
she touched, felt with a loud wail.
Her heart bitter
I could see its emptiness
Sickly, she stole a glance at me
like a dog peeping through a window
All tears, she shook bitterly
even though her eyes were hard as flint
Sitting next to her, like a couple on a date
I hold her arm and lo! Soft was its feel.
Sullen, heartbroken, painfully
she smiled at me sweetly
On the wet grass sitting
together arm in arm we gaze into space
the air cool, calm
even though it was covered in a haze
face clouded with tears, gay with life
I could see smiles setting on her left cheek
Happily, I smile back knowing
I had enkindled the hope she had lost in the murk.
Deserve the world my child,my son
If I could give, with heart I'd run
Pray instead, I must for you
Placed many tools to get you through
Life ahead unknown my son
So much I wish, your dreams ignite
Strive for all, please shine that light
Become the man I know you'll be
But please for you and not just me
Dig deep inside with every might
Strive for all thats due, you'll see
Deserving much from world, not me
Kindness, compassion, intelligence too
Owning these gifts, build confidence in you
By example, trust, live life for thee
Accept these words I give from me
My child, a man will come to be
What once was true can never be erased
It must remain a testament to time
In mind and heart it cannot be defaced
And to it will not cling denial's grime
To hide what was a part of history
The story of your life and heart's desire
To now pretend that it's a mystery
Will serve to burden heart and make it tire
Be not ashamed of feelings that were true
Of love you found the will so to express
What heart extols through words must shine on through
To bury truth, the harm will not redress
Be truth to self, and stand by what you write
Or lose yourself, and thus lose poet's might
A poem is a living breathing entity that exits outside the poet's control. When we write, we risk being judged and that is painful, but...if we never write, we risk the judgment of our own hearts, and that is cowardice. I've deleted a poem or two here because I've been afraid of what people will say of it, particularly the sensual pieces. In the end, I've felt like I'm not true to myself when I conform to what others think of me. Have I been attacked for it? Yes! Has it hurt? Yes! Did it make me evaluate myself? Yes! Did it teach me a lesson? Yes! It taught me to be STRONGER...and stick to my guns. What we most fault in what others write is what we are struggling with ourselves. It's true. There is a fine line between being vulnerable and being wise. That fine line is the POET'S to cross, and no one else's. :)
I want to say good night
But its night as yet to you
I can see darkness now
If maybe you never left
I have to say good night
Darkness has defeated me
Only your love can resurrect me
I am afraid to go now
But I have to go and live under the shads
Love me to my silent place
Good night when you see the moon
Flower me with roses from abandon garden
Cover me with what i was and be now
Good night sleep with elevated power
We Will Not Comply
I never thought I’d live to see the day
When children would be taught that God is dead,
The flag we love, someone would take away,
Or leaders in corruption share a bed.
It matters not to me who ridicules;
I am American, I will rebel.
I’ll keep my God, my guns, my right to use
Free speech the truth to tell.
We never thought to live in tyranny—
Just to stand for truth could mean your life;
We need to recognize we are not free—
We will not save our country without strife.
Will we rise and claim our liberty
Or take the lies and bow to slavery?
I face the final test of nature's truth.
The nights coming fast, I travel unheard.
The reverence I feel, was born in my youth,
tempered by sage, burnt offerings for birds.
Tormented by brambles whose thorns I collect
I come to remains of struggles long gone,
feathers and crushed bone, on these I reflect.
I'm hoping once more, my arms are still strong.
A pine marten scurries, close to my step,
the sweet scent of birch gum, his claws unearth.
My arrow's still sheathed, for creeks I have leapt.
Though I grow cold, my spirit is re-birthed.
Tracks at the creek, the water I savor
the thicket moves, my aim must not waver.
Imagine a world where nothing matters
Think about it for a second, really
No questions like, was it worth it anymore
Not seeing the point of a world in tatters
Consider; if no one felt any fear
And people with confidence and no doubt
If they carried their dreams above themselves
Knowing how useless, all that they hold dear
Envision this world of variety
A kaleidoscope that creates a self
Picture each individual lonely
But deep inside there is homogeny
Day after day the cosmos continues
Then a final day where nothing matters
©david byrne jan 2013
I remember when you and I were young
And you were beautiful beyond compare.
Each day we fought the world and always won
Living for the moment without a care
But time that thief has stole our youth away
And your beauty does slowly dissipate.
The world we fought has won and now holds sway
Showering us with blows we can’t abate.
Knowing now the battle is all but lost
With the fighting fought at our very gate.
Do we resist regardless of the cost
Or just give in and thus capitulate
No even at the end we must believe
Our life matters and to it we must cleave
the old man had earned his wings
during the war he did courageous things
but to me he was the biggest jerk
when not busy being a simple office clerk
his loose hands sowed so much hate
never a break for he could never wait
on his birthday I gave him a large eraser
he was to dumb and served another facer
after he died I took his official Medal Of Honor
threw it in the sea and felt no longer a fawner
the eels would devour his honor and pride
I felt like laughing and those tears I cried
my act turned finally into my ultimate plea
when I threw the old man's dust in the same sea
(c) Elly Wouterse
Written for"When doing wrong feels so right - Poetry Contest"
Sponsor: Jared Pickett
(c) Elly Wouterse
Earlier on I wrote a poem entitled A guy called "Robert" ..
The poem above tells the continuing story of "Robert" and his Medal Of Honor of the
Empire awarded on the count of extreme brave actions by non British citizens during
World War II from which the British army really benefited in the cause of
Forms: Sonnet (a,b,a,b) (c,d,c,d) (e,f,e,f) (g,g)
Three stanzas and a couplet(a summary) ..
Ten syllables per line
You may search and find a saying to inspire you please
include the quote on your work..
Please use_ A Penny For Your Thoughts as your title..
A Penny For Your Thoughts
Father said, son listen to that church bell
Life just may beat you into submission
Or drag you deep into a living hell
To avoid that seek truth as your mission
Sound of truth rings so very loud and clear
Let goodness be your greatest living guide
On that path the Light casts away all fear
Your love and deeds you will not have to hide
Son asks, dad how can I always be sure
Will there not be days of terrible doubt
My son, live your life seeking to be pure
Then his love you will never be without
Tis' the courage to continue that counts
In this race , best we use our finest mounts
Robert J. Lindley, 03-14-2015
Poem contest entry...
Poem Syllable Counter Results
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140 Total
# Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:
N/A Total # Words: 115
Born: November 30, 1874
Died: January 24, 1965
"Success is not final, failure is
not fatal: it is the courage to
continue that counts."
My quote chosen comes from the famous and brilliant
quote from the epically great Sir Winston Churchill.
I had to slightly rephrase the quote to meet the ten syllable
requirement of the sonnet form used.
Strikes me that the deepest thought we can ever have is this....
Where do we go after this life ends and how do we find that path?
My poem gives the answer that so many reject...
Morning beach caressing white sands and waves
Murmuring the forgotten song ready to roam,
Towards the lonely rock , paradise of the young waifs
With volatile desires and dreams, all gone.
Vulnerable verdure near living volcano, a hot place
Cast by a fleet of green clouds on yellow skies
Where misleading light showed the fate`s lace.
The red flame goes kingly down, until sunrise.
Kindliness, on an empty beach smiling to man;
Knitting covering the sides of the rock calls life in.
The hot rock will knit the smoking brows again;
It makes signs towards the graceful sea with green skin.
Like an inward song for a deaf beach somewhere,
There the volcano seems asleep in a hush of salt air.
what makes the heart feel for something it can't touch?
his tears caused contractions for his heart to pulse
floundered, looking for loves heartache to clutch
whimsical solace of her essence startles his impulse
shouldering the bane of a kiss that foreshadowed trifles
kooky huh? how time unleashes emotions restrained behind pride
losing his beloved inamorata to an admirer she mollycoddles
his heart became friable to the echo of her suicide
It was the absence of a note that left his worries unverified
what makes the heart feel for something it can't touch?
Now alone and without; a lovers heart is mummified
he will never love another as much
the “ghost orchid” has become her epithet
the rules of this game have changed, misère ouverte.
I chose Bonnie Raitt “I can't make you love me” because when I listened to it it brought
back memories of my childhood feeling second to my fathers work. His physical presence was
always their, but his heart belonged to his work and still is. After listening to the song 5 or 6
times I thought of the question, what makes the heart feel for something that it can't
touch----like love, and went from there.
You are the brave.
That is something to be proud of.
You enlisted with ideology of what has to come.
Your days are not by day.
You prepare for tomorrow.
No matter what branch you chose you climb to limb.
To set high above the enemy with the ally
To defeat why you deployed
To conquer peace and to cease war
You will be heroes.
You will be the Wall.
You be the strength that conquers all.
Your mastery of defense and skills, as militant, has withstood the cause.
I welcome you home with open arms and rejoice when you reenter the workforce.
PENNED ON AUGUST 30, 2014 @ 12:30 A.M. EST!
She waits in silence for him to come back,
Knowing better than to ask where he's been.
When stumbling in with a bottle of Jack,
She knows at that moment it will begin.
Another night painted purple with proof,
Though she swears she'll leave him every next day.
Staring right through his eyes she stands aloof,
Not even bothering to plead or pray.
Like water lets the wind take all control,
She becomes a stone wall, flinching never.
Appearing strong but by an empty soul,
She wishes only to sleep forever.
She now lies still like a rock under Earth.
Neither one knew what value she was worth.
December 18, 2012
Beautiful lies known as little white lies
yet one is no more deceptive than each
The truth is what makes it afraid of light
It's important we practice what we preach
Imagination built on lies destroy
Imagination built on truth create
Conquering evil we try to avoid
Tooth fairy, Halloween, Santa abate
Perceptions and images make it real
Origins of Pagan rituals true
We've wandered down this path for a bum deal
Now more lies are created all brand new
The mask behind a beautiful white lie
is the truth with a constant shield, but why?
Part I – Plow’s New Home
He was squiggly and fat with dark round eyes.
The auctioneer held him up, but no ayes!
HE MUST HAVE BEEN ABLE TO READ MY MIND.
Five dollars, do I hear $10? …. A real find!
“He won’t get much bigger than he is now.”
My ticker was beating faster and how!
I held up my card; my heart did a jig.
Before I knew it, I had bought the pig.
Ruth had a cage; so we brought the boy home.
He was so much fun and he loved to roam.
Each morning, Plow would follow me around.
Rooting under bushes where snacks were found.
Plow worked in the garden everyday.
But then one day, the boy ran away.
Part II – Plow’s First Adventure
My heart was sunken and my fear took flight.
He was growing bigger, a yummy sight.
Suppose he had wondered deep in the woods.
Or worse yet, plundering the neighborhoods.
I loved that pig and his little pig snout.
Apple in my hand; Plow would take it out.
Sometimes the dog would race him for the find.
The pig and the dog seemed to share one mind.
What would Ginger do without her pig friend?
After three days gone, would our sad hearts mend?
He had grown so fat, safer if thinner.
I prayed to God he would not be dinner.
Riding to town down the winding dirt road,
We saw Plow confined; good fortune bestowed.
Part III - Courting the Sow
Down the way, there lived a pretty pink sow.
She must have been shocked when she first saw Plow.
He was eighteen inches long, not at all tall.
Yet, there he was flirting her in her stall.
The sow was huge, ready for the slaughter.
My piglet had roamed and become a squatter.
The landowner said his sow was in heat.
And there stood Plow with his head at her feet.
High ambitions for a pot-bellied pig,
He went half a mile for his courtship gig.
Running through the woods, he wanted to stay.
But we caught him and took him home that day.
We had to build him a special pigpen.
His days of free roaming came to an end.
November 13, 2014
P.S. Thanks for the Contest! I've finally started my book, today. This is a true story...and there is much more to come. Big Smiles.
The King and I
I have seen the king of Spain abdicating
in full uniform, but his cap was too small
this made him look jolly except for his
cane and the small steps of an old man.
Until recently he looked handsome and
had many mistresses and he was fond of
hunting elephants; he has given up both
pursuits and is faithful to the queen.
Old age sometimes arrive suddenly, there
you are walking about feeling in tune with
the world, for next waking up in a hospital
being lifted by strong arms from a trolley to
a bed and have your shrunken ***** cleaned
by a brisk nurse. The king and I are identical.
The younger girl dressed like a grande Dame
lingering solely in her private tower of dreams
The grande Dame remembers her maiden name
towering estates where their river of thoughts streams
The sophisticated Dame discovers written pictures
traveling along with another mesmerizing poem
latent learning more unknown words a fixture
in her growing intimate world of her own
The young girl is switching between here and there
while her skilled fingers softly caress toned harp strings
feeling secure anywhere a bit longer too rare
hiding behind a wordless ballad that soft and gentle sings
Still displaying the immature face of her younger girl inside
she secretly broadens her views and thoughts mature and wide
(c) Elly Wouterse
Young love bird wounded during your flight
Worried now where your companion landed
You sing a beautiful song, but still no sight
Certainly now he must have gotten stranded
The magical serenade continues to no avail
Some concern now for your own well being
This winter flight treacherous you feel frail
The singing stops, you are hardly breathing
One pilgrimage not completed you feel pain
Some guilt overtakes when you start to heal
The flying before your partner was it in vain
Or is there.a bird needing your singing still
Bird of flight your journey is still not done
Heal now, continue to fly for the other one
Penned by Wayland Bunch 2/12/2013
as a boy I busted my chin open
and I needed to get myself stitches
once they were in place didn’t reopen
soon I was back playing in the ditches
I never knew what stiches was back then
I heard of stitches I was really scared
years later something else happen again
going with Rob for chemo unprepared
I heard of chemo without knowing it
after it was done he was in so much pain
heating pad on his back when he did sit
Cancer ate him away he was so drain
best friend for a few years helped me a lot
for many his life not a passing thought
Shadows Creep, I Lost Sleep
Shadows crept into my room late at night
those dark nasty ones with razor like teeth
Defiant I soon dared to taunt and fight
slimy ones prancing down and underneath
Climbing ones scratched slowly up moving walls
fat, dark and nasty ones scattered about
Shrieking ones gave out wicked little calls
some cursed my soul with demonic shout
Last came ever patient and slashing kind
creeping in so close to my shaking bed
Searching very slow for bare toes to find
clawing bed sheets now wrapped over my head
A light blasts on from lamp on my nightstand
Strange, they vanished, I never lifted my hand!
Robert J. Lindley, 08 -22 -2014
Dark memories haunt my past.
I know such are dead and blessings are here
now to last...
February 06, 2007
Contained around me is a wall you see.
Thick layers of molten and rock are here.
But the wind is what keeps bringing near.
And the Stars keep telling me to be me.
Shining down is a light that just might be.
Followed by decades and decades of year!
And swallowed up by all might for a fear!
Whisked away they were shining as they flee.
The Sun set ever so high.
And the Moon peered out.
You could reach the sky,
And knew what it is all about.
You do know it’s the restrainer?
Collecting contents in the container!
© Copyright: Ann Rich 2007
Eventually life sends a message clear
embrace courage abandon your fear
Take big steps to lead a life of hope
anything is possible given enough rope
Eventually a great storm will try to slay
prepare faithfully for such a tragic day
Take all our evil vices into account
upon a charging steed soundly mount
Eventually critics will call for your head
by lying about things you never said
Take measure of the false steps they make
shine a great light proving they are fake
Eventually the world will learn to respect you
Even then, fools and knaves will not have a clue
Robert J. Lindley, 07-27-2014
Had to slam one more out .....
I can't continuously catch this connection
coroscating so cordially as a cure...
Captivating my cranium contemporaneously
contaminating collation of common sense.
I can't think...
And our growing link
makes my heart sink
with your every wink!
Are you reality?
I reach right past self-denial's ruse of
what's real with no rest reeking of regicide
fearing a relapse regarding regression.
Recklessly running rampart racing
to our heart's reunion.
Your soul saying "Speak sonnets of Sensuality".
So sexy yet sensibly sweet...
Seeking to be shown your sentiments.
You're the destination of heaven above.
And I... am in love!
By: Soul's Floetry
The colorless flag ferociously flaps
Torn and shredded by her hurricane
The giant anchors have been blown away
Leaving the vessel floating aimlessly
I surrender to you, old mighty one
Bowing down to you, asking for mercy
Your wrath has brought me to my knees
Leaving me helpless and hopelessly silent
Stand up before me, show me your light
Lead me to safety, open up your doors
Ripped by your violence. I bow to you
Grant me the courage to continue on
Your rage has rendered me inadequate
Your affection will grant aspiration
The lips that kissed these tiled floors
now split to cough out damp clay dust.
Gathered in excited lungs, to build and mold forever more
under thatched roof of ripped canvas. Must
the strings that hold your heart in tune
be plucked free to dance upon the unknown noise.
That rings from peach sky mornings to hushed afternoon
in the sparrows song. Like the toys
that teach creation, Paintbrush’s whispering tongue
kisses white with every stroke. Scream
forth in colorful kindling that rung
your secrets in the wind, leaving dry lungs to dream
for knowledge as it seeps from tree rings,
the life sap frozen in amber wings.