Scattered across a thousand cities
(After the last window darkens).
The moon speaks hidden fantasies,
and the sleepy sunset sharpens.
Emerging exactly in the last ludicrous light
(The dawn of you erects constellations).
Softly, with strolling lips singing spectrally slight,
the rumor of your touching exceeds all aspirations.
For blindly, as the nails upon the cross
(A dainty destroyed hero loves you).
Beyond falling for or feeling loss,
your least amazing smile will do.
So give what gives meaning to meaningful,
the life inside you undefined beautiful.
My Muse, I So Abuse
My muse cries out, please write this way
I replied laughing, that will be the day
She stormed off in a very indignant huff
I shouted at her, damn ain't that tough?
Never fear, she always runs as she returns
she my heart loves, as my mind she burns
I, that often sit on a cold bed of stones
She, poetic judge that often breaks bones!
Dead of night she cuddles up to me near
utters words, sweet nothings and cold fear
I inquire, but my heart you love so dear
She shouts, that was folly from last year!
My muse and I play wickedly cat and mouse
She may be the roof but I am the House!
Robert J. Lindley, 08-26- 2014
note: My muse is a vindictive little tramp
she makes me kneel humbly before she lights the lamp!
In my soul, I shall never find
another who completes me like you.
Our endless love, for strength 'tis true,
I rely to face those days of resign.
But always does my heart remind
of blessings from heavenly blue.
The ties of eternity like glue
shall always endure, bridge and bind.
My heart renewed was once threadbare
worn and ragged under bitter tears.
Oh, the first dance of love as a pair!
Tears of joy displace the trembling fears.
A love entwines two hearts aware
as endless bands of gold appear.
How grand it is when sky blue meets the sea
may sky and sand and water ever be...
reflecting in a topsy-turvy lea.
Oh, let the stars fall down and over me.
Yes, meet me where the foam does froth and roil,
where the waves do pound ‘pon glistening soil
And seagulls squawk in mismatched harmony
oh, let the stars fall down and over me.
Sea tossed, the dross shines ‘pon the glistening strand,
Gemstones born, where the sky does meet the land.
Meet me, down by the rush and roar sea
Oh, let the stars fall down and over me.
Here I shall blend for all eternity,
with life and death and love of thee for me.
The Shaman sits upon the sand,
the sand of ocher clay;
between the walls of ruins tall,
where ancient one did lay.
The sky above, the earth between;
took in her sincere pleas
tinksha’s toned, soft flutes droned,
her mantra’s dire decree.
To be the light on darkened paths,
within the night belayed;
and be the brave dark in the glow,
of God’s pristine light portrayed.
Her life long work no sacrifice
a love of mankind to display.
*One may be of any race or of almost any religion
and walk the Red Road. The Good Red Road is a path,
a way of living. It's full meaning is the way one acts,
the methods one uses, and what directs one's doing.
There is more to the Red Road than spoken word
or written words on paper. It is behavior, attitude,
a way of living, a way of "doing" with reverence -
of walking strong yet softly, so as not to harm
or disturb other life. The Red Road is a pathway to truth,
peace and harmony.
Shall I compare thee to a winter’s day?
Thou art much more shrivelled and much more cold
Rough winds shake the withered leaves of today.
And your stomach hath too many a fold.
Sometimes too hot your sister shines,
And often is your grey complexion dimmed;
And you always smell like my uncle’s swine
Except your upper lip is less well trimmed.
Thy eternal summer did long since fade
And lost possession of that fair thou ow'st;
And Satan brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives death to eyes.
Having had mere minutes to skim your sighs,
anesthetize the tip of teeming thought ...
with platitudes for quandaries which fly bye,
we care for you, our frail flowers wrought.
The breeze, the muse, the bringer, the envoy
lends at days end, the tender bits of heart
as on the keys or sewing seams of joy
our fingers never rest from the day's start.
Hands in the garden smudged with chlorophyll
or wrapped about a naughty childlike pet
oft rest behind a trusty Parker’s quill
all healing touches given without regret.
Small and strong and full of life, they pour.
A woman’s hands give much to be adored.
*Women inspire me especially my mother.
The end of the beginning drew very near
so Jesus went to pray in the garden,
Heavy was His pure heart, bruised by burden,
And olive trees soon misted with His tears.
He knelt beside a patch of lavender,
Roses dropped petals asking for pardon,
Sand only softened, refused to harden,
While poppies bent their heads closer to hear.
Evening deepened as Son talked to Father,
Geraniums paled, His pain they could see,
Daises bowed low to man’s sinless brother,
Gethsemane kneeled to the Rabboni.
Seeded by grace, grew a blessed flower,
~A blossom of hope, the Easter lily~
“My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death, "he said to
them. “Stay here and keep watch.” Going a little farther, he fell to the
ground and prayed that if possible the hour migh pass from him.
“Abba, Father,” he said, “Everything is possible for you. Take this cup
from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.”
By Cyndi MacMillan for Linda Marie's Easter Inspirations Contest
ABOUT THIS POEM
I researched the garden of Gethsemane, and all the flowers save for the Easter Lily could very well have grown there on the night before the crucifixion. The Easter Lily is NOT mentioned in scripture (though lilies are mentioned often throughout the bible). This poem is written with the intent to honor our Lamb, and not as an accurate representation of Christ’s anguished hours.
This is mixed sonnet. It has an Italian octave and a Sicilian sestet.
I am looking right at you and you don’t even know it.
I will deter your intent and throw you off a steep cliff.
But in the air will be my snuff and gruff you can sniff.
Eventually I will have some sort of mercy of just a bit.
Surely we are above empowering manners of tat for tit.
Maybe I’ll light a scented candle and blow you my whiff.
Or maybe I will strand you grounding your bones to stiff.
Opposed or decomposed and still composed I won’t quit.
Inside or out,
I’ll throw down.
I am the clout.
Don’t mistake my identity,
Either or, it’s your eternity.
® Registered: Ann Rich 2009
Many nights you’ve graced my sight
fair Orion, hunter and groom to the abyss,
and yet it would seem an eternity
before we would meet and kiss.
Bought you’d be, and brought to me
by the grace of He who waits.
So, when I die my heart can rise
upon your valor’s brace.
He’d rename Hatsya’s famed
so my soul could light the way.
Dearbhla true poetess of love
‘pon Orion’s sword held sway.
And up I’d rise at my demise
to crest the sky and space.