Best Accrues Poems
Above, the shrill of neon lights portend
a promise of new love in garish hues,
but for a broken life yet on the mend
the darkness of the scape brings only views
of solitude when memory accrues
as strangers unimpassioned eyes peruse.
The music wafts from grottoes down below,
blue jazz and candles in a shadowed room,
while up here floodlights cast necrotic glow
as wind gusts and the drops of rain resume.
Cold luminance is all that they exhume
just as my mind expects a rose to bloom.
Your recent death keeps looping in my mind,
no passing faces in the crowd are yours.
I walk the night, imagine you in kind
emerging through the uninviting doors
like Cathy to go dancing on the moors.
I rush beneath an eave as now it pours,
your white reflection standing in the rain,
come back to haunt the neon night again.
1/23/18
You read in the papers you watch on the news
Coalition soldiers amidst as the killing accrues
In these theatres of war we lose many lives
In these wars of man only death thrives
But every so often there's a turn for the good
A life is saved they couldn't do what they could
The lives of a family murdered by cowards
Shot in cold blood bullets they showered
But from this tragedy a life was saved
It's of a little girl and a soldier who braved
A Chief Master Sergeant in the USAF
Allows mans humanity to kindly show face
This little girl who was saved was shot in the head
He stayed by her side for she should have been dead
To see pictures like this in the theatres of war
Maybe it's understandable to see what we fight for
An alleged soldier in wanton family wipe
What takes a soldier to become their type
My heart goes out to this little girl
And all the other children caught up in this war ridden world
Written on the spur of the moment after receiving a picture from Sara Kendrick
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-4.php
In the distant sea, a misty vista
Wearing a shroud of pale blue illusion
It sends forth silhouette of fiesta
A wake-up call for my faint sensation
On goes the red and pink pursuit for more
Shades of beauty in our daily struggle
A tango of time in tide on the shore
Rustling sounds in the moments of bubble
With the red rose tucked in your bun of hair
The wild wind keen to dislodge your sari
We are aloof in our velvet armchair
Distress accrues in your tense inquiry
The woodpecker looking for more and more
Let’s turn on to answer the purple door
____________________________________
26/01/2017
Ashes Now Cover, Pantheon Of Ancient Greek Gods
Deep within halls of ancient, and dead Greek gods
resides heroes forgotten, waiting their just dues
As poets of old, in golden verse gave their nods
pleas for recognition now so sadly accrues.
Does this world wrongly deny heroes of the past
In rush to glorify vanity it now casts?
Have we cause in forgetting heroes that once trod
across time and those famous battlefields of old
Anointed with courage, muscles hard as iron rod
warriors lost in greater tales no longer told.
Does this world wrongly deny heroes of the past
In rush to glorify vanity it now casts?
Of Achilles, that Homer so famously wrote
how many students now even know of his name
As we parade about singers of little note
with falsely set illusion, their voice deserves fame.
Does this world wrongly deny heroes of the past
In rush to glorify vanity it now casts?
Robert J. Lindley,
August 17th, 1999
Rhyme, ( When Much Needed Heroes Are Cast Away )
Note: Assessment on the state of Literature classes
as they are now taught in our modern high schools.
From Wisdom Born, Decades Fighting Fate's Cursed Hand
In youth, a young lad roars for much needed applause
in old age, wisely remains silent with just cause,
seeing the end near, some shed bitterest of tears
thinking such splashing supplications, angels hear;
whereas this old, callous world neither sees nor cares
what sorrow one displays or how much heart one shares
for savage the measure world uses to reward
dying lover or a talented, humble bard.
On pages offering up their softest virgin whites
are invisible castles beyond mortal sights,
each one begging for its wailing walls to withstand
massive cannon shots or a victor's crushing hand!
Poets, be they young or old, should a full pen hold true
to life, as spilling of ink- its treasures accrues!
Robert J. Lindley, 1-01-2020
Sonnet, ( Why All We Think We See, May Be An Illusion )
( So Spoke The Raven, After Master Poe Demanded Silence )
Syllables Per Line:0 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 0 12 12
Total # Syllables::168
Total # Words:::::120
Note:
Muse demanded I write this second poem on this first day
and it be dark. Raven agreed and Master Poe abstained.
Paper sang a blackened tune and pen danced a raging jig
as evil clouds rumbled while gathering in the far west
echoes drifted through broken window, and Hades jingled
a billion unbreakable chains. A older and wiser poet yielded
to avoid the usual headaches and aching pains!
Some days we rise and others we fall
Some days we run and some we crawl
Sunshine will fade with cover of night
It shall return and show its light
Be sure to face each day anew
Yesterday is gone and today accrues
Face each struggle with grace and tact
Don't burn that bridge, in case you come back
Today is not lost, tomorrow still waits
There is still more time to unseal your fate
Look where you are and where you have been
Life is a challenge to face with a grin
Take each day and remember who waits
I will hold your hand as we open each gate
We are here as a pair, as one to stay
Keep looking ahead, and defend your day
Who is Bigfoot’s Great-grand Daddy?
Whether living in a city or on the mountain side,
People from the world around astound us with their views.
He’s nine-feet tall, a hairy thing, uprightly he flees astride.
Only tracks are left behind and the mystery accrues.
They say that Big Foot does exist and for eons has survived.
A humanoid of greatest size a hairy manlike beast.
Is he really all they say, or are the stories contrived?
And if he lives, tell me, are our imaginations fleeced?
(Genesis 27 … paraphrased…)
Jacob goes to get two goats and steal his father’s blessing.
Their mom prepared a feast of goat, delicious, to Isaac’s taste.
Then, tied goatskin to Jacob’s neck and hands, realizing.
Jacob dressed in Esau’s clothes calmly goes to his father with haste.
Meanwhile, Esau, far away was hunting for venison as asked.
Traipsing around through the scrubby woods tracking.
Moving quickly with his great might to fulfill his father’s task.
A man with hair like that of a goat, his birthright was loosing.
Jacob smelled like Esau and the fields, but his voice…
Isaac questioned, so he felt Jacob’s goatskin clad hands.
Satisfied by the goatskin disguise, destiny made its choice.
Jacob received a blessing of wealth and all of his father’s lands.
When Esau returned with the venison feast, deceit was revealed.
But it was too late his birthright was gone; he was very mad.
“Give me a blessing, father please.” He begged as he kneeled.
You shall live on the fat of the earth…unyoked…his father said.
I wonder –
Is Bigfoot, like Esau, a hunter-gatherer with hands as hairy as a goat?
Does he live independently, a type of man, a scary giant beast?
Wandering upon earth, too and fro, with life barely afloat.
Brothers separated by that ancient deceit filled feast.
Is Bigfoot the hunter-gatherer living on the fat of the land?
Has he since the day of Rachael’s scam lived secluded and beastly?
Have generation upon generation descended that ancient hunting man?
Could Isaac in the Bible be Big Foot’s ancient Great-grand Daddy?
POLITICS
Politicians
base tacticians
no shame accrues for them.
They vote for war
then tax us more
Their lies spew forth like phlegm.
My dad is a genius,
He is a brilliant diamond!
My life is tedious,
He is a get-away island.
For me he's always there
With his harsh but loving critique.
His way of taking care
Of his loved children is antique.
Dear daddy, do you know
Just how much it's that I love you?
You don't like it to show:
But inside me it still accrues.
The hardened heart of man remains
Dissected by each border.
Hoax headlines heading to the street
By chaos wings of bloody order.
Sedated nations wade in tar
As Earth accrues its human burden...
Slow and turn your thirsty car,
Consume the fumes, and close the curtain.
Was it you who drugged the skies?
And scraped the scabs of sacred skin
In earnest, mad'ning cries?
Your speed's no savior from these eyes--
Tired lenses, wet with lies.
Or truth perhaps, that is the game:
Social movement, gain and fame.
The respirator stays my breath,
A chair or crutch to you, depending.
Hope-drunk nonsense, doom impending:
Law, the life support of conscience.
Immortal land awakes through dusk and dawn
Beneath ceiling spun sugar and midnight blue.
Wind's breath trill of tiny song accrues through
ardent woodlands, rivers, and natures gentle fawns.
Tears of life stream with allure and glamor
Dreams grow draping over nature's life in each
Branches newly bereft of leaves, tips reach
Gilded sunrise bonding souls and laughter
Ocean's emotion echoes deep shifting realm
Its grace untouchable in its deepest depth
As it attains its greatest heavens breadth
ancient secrets adhered on coral helm
3/15/2017
Behind the barricade of books and papers,
In the earthy rise of espresso grinding,
Misty jets and the steaming milk,
Lavish scents and aromas black and silk;
Until the senses swim in their filters,
Percolated with velveteen sound and vision,
The caffeine palpitates from sip to vein,
Condensation accrues on the stencilled pane.
Across the babble and bubble of prose
Quoted and blown like froth from the cups,
Tinkling silverware, china rapping,
Rose red nails upon cedar-wood, tapping.
When the smile breaks from a private jest,
Or something her cellphone lover said,
Like the sun coming out in a rain-forest mist
Lips of a goddess that beg to be kissed;
I feel like a trespasser, a casual voyeur,
Yet my gaze cannot leave her Brazillian eyes,
Americano heat flares in my heart suddenly,
And I wish, how I wish, she were smiling for me.
In tidy ancillary room
patronage accrues
art decor tenderly groom
chamber maid's humble dues
There's something scary
Happening in this place.
I must be very wary,
And not leave a trace.
There are beings here
That just don't belong
They feel unnaturally *****,
So strange, so wrong.
It took so long to adjust
Each layer as filth accrues.
Centuries of cobwebs, dust,
Slimes, molds and mildews.
I spooked a bit their dogs and cats,
And made their youngest scream.
I tried to scare the other brats;
Mother said "just a bad dream".
I've tried wailing and keening,
But they just won't let me be!
They just won't stop cleaning, Cleaning, CLEANING
Until there's nothing left of me.
20190113
Bereft of the poetry of his soul
The knight took refuge in the house of death
Into darkness he went with his mind crushed
Wandering lust gone and with his own trust.
The enchanter gone
And disenchantment entered
And the land of La Mancha
Slowly turned to dust & cinders.
Talisman of allurements or of feasts
Chimeras of windmills or of fabulous beasts
Golden liquors and the shining decanters
Tales of poets sorcerers and of wizards
Adieu to stillness and the romance
Tryst and other typographical stance.
His merry madness had to go
And sanguine sanity had to be constructed
Don Quixote had to be demolished
And Alfonso had to be resurrected.
Alas! there is no poetry left now
In the lands of the Al Toboso
And no veils of Dulcinea now accrues
Across the knight of the mournful rue.