Within the warmth of home, I sit amazed
at the gentle fall of snow through window pane.
Cup of tea in hand, my layered thoughts unchain,
and tumble from the tip of tongue unfazed
to land upon a pristine page appraised,
aided by the silent fall through snowy pane.
Oh, the soft white wintry glow 'pon the lane
leaves a graceful drape, Lord be praised.
Within the warmth of home, I muse on themes
of days to come and those gone bye and so,
I thank the Lord for all of nature's schemes,
for the gift of time, for peace, and for the snow.
Oh, make the blanket deep, I wish to dream,
may all my days and 'morrows have this glow.
A Rainbow Sings
Prismatic rainbow graces sky many ways
with brilliant hues of multicolored rays
picturesque goniochromism sings to decorate
a ketch with Tyrian purple sails out late
Sepia hue tinges this kaleidoscopic scene
monolexemic shades threaten to richly preen
majestic phenomena seen in sky embraces
mists, vanishing clouds and aurorae traces
A Rayleigh Scattering sets rainbow apart
miracle that sends opalescence to impart
this sky mingling multitude of colors now
as red, orange, purple and yellow take bow
Interwoven within this prismatic awe inspiring view
The hopes and dreams of gentle poets like me and you!
Robert J. Lindley, 08-10-2014
In the Christmas Freeze of 1983
Mama thought she lost her Oleander tree
Some called it a “bush,” but at 14 feet tall
Its shadow cast wide on her home’s southern wall
How she mourned the loss of this beloved plant
She begged the Lord for any blessing He’d grant
The freeze ended soon, though her tree appeared dead
The scent of water each day clung to its bed
On January twenty-fourth, the call came
Dad said mom entered God’s heavenly domain
A neighbor had found her, lying in the yard
Next to remnants of a plant she’d not discard
In May a miracle appeared to occur
The strong plant revived, as if waiting for her
*True occurrence based on my mother’s death, January 24, 1984.
Poem written July 12, 2014
A Mere Pile Of Bones
Sitting here dejected, mere pile of bones
pleasure, just a memory in the dark past
Stripped of every lie one polishes and hones
facing this truth, nothing can forever last!
Stark, reality of deeds soaked in slime
pain, a racing bird sent to torture me
Memories, stones in the honeyed ring of time
everything costs so dearly, nothing is free!
Evil are the chains wrapping my crushed Soul
Time, a sword cutting so deeply my heart
fled pleasure of any future winning goal
sudden truth is ripping rest of me apart!
This pile of bones, only treasure I have got
smelling this meat even after a slow rot!
Robert J. Lindley, 08 -30-2014
Sonnet rewritten this morn. Originally it was a
twenty verse poem. I saw and thought rewriting
it into a sonnet would be much better.
Claim thy night oh moon and light mine oak
Draw near thou brume, and dusk thy cloak
Lest love retreat in dream, thus natures’ held
Betwixt mine raven sense, to quake n’ meld
Like fireflies that claim the earth and shine
Tall wings doth go to beauty quiet sublime
Withall accoutrement the quick-glow ere
That rocks the night to life, as chandelier
Tis I, the arch that finds the barn in dance
As summer gifts her latent sweet romance
Life enters in like Eve, a wakeful solitude
God’s eyes on us, love-days of multitude
Thus gather dust from star before the moon
And watch it verily unfold to fill your room
On this September’s mild evening
I watch blue stars flicker, to glow
Around your hair like angel wings
How fair the dance ‘neath our window.
That in hushed tones, I speak your name
Enshrined in warmth of timeless grace
My hands fold yours with love aflame,
While eyes rest deep from my embrace.
Although weak heart quivers in ticks
With faith, a miracle is done;
Your birthday nears at forty six
As prayers trail for more reruns.
For health anew, may God restore
The gift of life from heaven’s door.
In loving memory of my deceased mother
who suffered heart problems at age 46 ,
and survived a few. She celebrates
her birthday this September 17.
Elly Waterouse’s Maybe The Last Letter
by nette onclaud
FASTER THAN NIGHT
In seeking ways to beat the speed of light,
what folly might be there, to let it be,
obnoxious to the core, we let it go
to never realize a dream the warp can see.
The death we all must know; the naughts and ones,
so fast, we never come to understand,
quite physical, much faster than the sun's
removing who we are to who's been planned.
Our space, still limited, dark matter slows
until there's more, creation by God's plea
who reasons life goes on, but never goes
beyond the limits of our mystery.
Dark energy, propelling speed of light
has reason for the need of ending night.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet.
In the repository of unlived things,
I find unquenched love,
A tarnished wedding ring,
An old baseball glove,
A half-sketched dream.
The sore sight fills my eye,
An oil-soaked cloth of faith,
Restraint against sin piled high,
A picture of Jesus laid to waste,
So much regret, I begin to cry.
Behold, I see a new start,
An infant’s wiggling toes,
A chest of breath and beating heart,
Courage clamors and fresh breath bellows.
That the brilliance of your majestic ways
and fire that burns from your white-hot eyes
may give their light to space of infinite size
and shine on all Earth's creatures' love and praise;
that the mercy you give to him that prays
for pious ways to keep his lips from lies,
for faith and grace to remain pure and wise
may give heaven renewed glory and raise;
that the millennial Kingdom's earthly time
arrives after end times' brief, labor pangs
and saves God's children from sin's filthy grime,
so they that were tempted by Satan's gangs
will live on in glory and in their prime
once Christ removes the Serpent's deadly fangs!
Meet the crazy with the lazy;
Enter a space that feels hollow;
Time marks hazy oddness sickly;
Await new face as time swallows;
Misty moments minding message;
Open pages in cold mellow;
Resting movement reaching passage;
Pry life stages in odd shallow;
Here a spiral way of looking.
Intuit a glow that fashions more;
Dance a tribal pace of living;
Enjoy a show in glimpse before;
Appeal to form that functions well;
See the whole norm in art that dwells.
12 May 2014