Best Allays Poems
Faith’s cozy cottage
lies deep in the woods
Beckons trembling hearts
to partake of her Goods
Allays palpitations
assuages all fears
As she calms, as she tames
fresh rivers of tears
My legs give out
and I sink
onto the grassy blanket,
whose thorns feel like velvet
against parched skin.
I close my eyes and
d
r
i
f
t
away..
from this cruel confinement
where fleeting time waits for none.
I am drawn awake.
It’s that feeling all over again.
It allays my ears,
casting away the shrieks and screams
that haunt them.
This is the muse the world needs.
Melodies and lyrics are stars
to its a
b
y
s
s.
The music bewitches,
I tiptoe on notes
dancing in octaves.
I call the tune ~ I shall stay here
until the music dies.
For in the mansion beside my run-down hut,
they begin
to blow the trumpet.
This is a long extended night,
The stars all hibernate,
The blustery gusts revolve around
The dreams which suffocate.
Now the torrents lash my door,
And now they slam the shade,
'Be couched right here, and do not move',
The whispers promptly bade.
Out there I glanced, the wild tree pranced,
She swayed her tipsy stem,
All drenched and dark, the leafy arc
Seems like her death-gown's hem.
Is that mere downpour, or a sign,
An omen of the time?
The thunders clash with louder splash,
Upon the lakebed slime.
My window pane is stabbed by rain,
One thousand spears en masse,
They prick the eaves, pummel the leaves
To the level of the grass.
The flickering lamp will die at once,
It does not cease to pour,
A marble sculpture drowns beneath
The water on the floor.
That which gives life can take it too,
Lo there it heaves its head,
The shrine's bemused, the priest presumed
A curse on holy bread.
It has to cease within no time,
The devil's thunder roars,
The gale allays his evil play
Withdraws his wondrous force.
28th September, 2021
Dark night displays so many things
like shining stars on mystery wings;
and moon, with luminescent glow,
her sentry until morning sings.
The milky way's translucent show
of bright stars, some we name and know.
What hides behind night's raven veil,
and shapes our fears on earth below?
At night, when heart and footsteps fail,
our minds and ears hear phantoms wail.
Cold fingers reach to touch our nape.
fear grows and soon our fears prevail.
Imagined ghostly, floating shapes
whose icy grip could draw death's drape.
In hope we gaze upon moon's face,
to aid our fraught and frail escape.
Our moon, observing from vast space
allays our fears and bids us place
our head where pillowed thoughts may flow,
to sense and feel its lunar grace.
We sleep until the sun bestows
dawn's light, by which we work and grow.
Though warmed by sun's most pleasant face,
the heart still seeks night's stygian row.
Dark Night
8-1-14
"Missed"
if you wanted me
to write about
rainbows and unicorns,
I would have to say
romance was never
on the menu of
the grinning soul,
in the days
when war came.
lines drawn in sand, see,
grains easily blow away,
to reveal what of strength,
hard and cracked, yet so
tangible survives underneath
it all, firmly remains.
the thistle with
its royal violet inviolate crown,
its thorns like swords,
persistent, makes its way
to what little light
endures, holds out,
shoots its way through
the fallout clouds.
it blooms
like a revolution.
never changes its
regiment colour.
beauty in survival
allays arid memories
and relishes the rain
to grow new life;
and like a thistle
the petals will-o-wisp
like a halo up into
the sky, far away,
but the roots
remain fixed
strong and
militarily resilient,
day after day.
romance comes
in the flurry of snow
falling on an
upturned face,
faith in something
of grace, offers
a smile that sings
still life doesn't exist here,
tongue outstretched
sensually tasting
a poisonous life
remembering
the last naked
tryst and how
one survived
the assassin’s kiss,
though the shooter
didn’t fare that well.
the shooter
perhaps loved
the target,
too much.
the target saw
the transparency,
reality of truth,
a subtle softness
pouring out
in the bleed, could win
through
the atomic
missed.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“This is what comes of military training”, she said, ”born and bred from military - both air and land forces - one becomes habitually practiced and intuitively alert to the enemy's position. Strategically, one is always lethally equipped, both psychologically and physically, in surviving wars on the mortal plane. Particularly, much later in the singularity wars, for a neural neophyte piloting those missions of slippery inter-dimension”.
In the days to follow, this quality in her would stand her well, in both dark and light fields, contradictory yet complimentary, the two warring co-ordinates of the Cross Field in the new domain. It was the place of the in-between worlds, where her mission would be implanted and eventually executed, expeditiously and with great success. Much to her detriment.
Not until when
(as blue lilacs loom)
Eurus allays
his wretched perfume
will stars overcome
nocturnal hysteria
fading to midnight
the blue-moon wisteria.
4/26/17
*4 Lines split into 8
Dreams Seeds Planted
I grow the best seeds given in my dreams,
I hold the flavor of that feat;
Although a freeze may hit my streams,
I shall not admit brutal defeat ...
Yet life can and will serve all the more
Against dark blades stabbing in the night,
With my crop growing on another shore
Hope prays to end this desperate fight.
Watering my crop with needed warm tears,
My hands never sit vacant and idly by,
True sense of purpose allays my deep fears
Even if saddened, my life can still fly.
Onward! My passage is deliberate and slow,
I defiant, planted with stoic, firm feet;
Face this world, with my heart in tow,
Harvest my crop for my hungry soul to eat.
I will not allow defeat to crush my heart,
A thought repugnant to my wishful mind;
Each morn gives another chance to restart,
And live dreams that a sweeter love may find.
Robert J. Lindley, 10-14-2015
Life's greatest heated human tragedy
the one we are likely taught not to see.
Our wide-ranging worlds are well connected,
as atoms wiggle we're all effected.
Separation is optic illusion
a fitting end to one's soul seclusion.
Gurus say I am you and you are me,
that's the way it's supposed to be.
If I am Abe, Alice, Aron, Abu;
are they really me, how can that be true?
One respects collective society,
pledges to individuality.
It's in us to foster global good will
hold high hopes for oneness not to stand still.
Compassion is the real eternal key,
the single most important reality.
In the rays of moonlight truth shines so clear
allays all our unstated oneness fear.
When face to face, touch hands to then embrace;
stand up, stand in, alone and take your place.
So don't be offput by any confusion;
you're not separate, it's an illusion.
Lots of wisdoms will surely come to pass
while we lay lulling the scent of sweetgrass.
167 words 24 lines couplets
Reference: Albert Einstein quote, "The greatest tragedy
of human existence is the illusion of separateness"
Reference: Robin Wall Kimmerer, "Braiding Sweetgrass"
author, indigenous scientist, native American
Reference: Dalai Lama, teaches the importance
of compassion practice
Reference: Thomas Merton quote, "We are already one.
But we imagine that we are not."
Pen illustration by G. Gaul
September 2022
You are our parents' only son,
three sisters grew
and gave you guff;
you stood alone on constant guard,
in teasing vein and comic mien.
I am the sibling next in line—
the cagey one—
a boomerang who fed it back,
if you began to clown around
and play the fool.
We are astute and wiser still
than number three;
her stiff chagrin,
her will to win,
enhanced your fun.
But sometimes love allays the fume,
as baby four
supplied the balm,
restored accord,
inside our home.
(Double sonnets- Part One)
Death First Knocks, Fear Then Enters, Plea Given
(Double sonnets- Part One)
Cold hand of death, thy touch arrives too soon
Weakens my breath, sorrows my tragic tune
Thy blow that hits hard, thy strike will deny
More years to this bard, yet gift saddest skies
Alas! Will not thy deed, be a great waste
Thy kiss, I have no need, its bitter taste
Deep bite of thy fangs, this heart fails to awe
Bittersweet death pangs, where true love recalls
Life was oft honey-sweet, days pure and true
Pray dawn we meet, rather than I curse you
Stay thy hand one hour, tis but a small plea
Let me greet faith's power, then finish me
Now friend, your silence speaks, I shed no tears
Moment I was weak, faith now allays fears
~ Death comes with a hiss, to give its reply ~
~ Where came such bliss, that soul ceases to cry~
Fear me the more, I hold thy mortal coil
Life has no soft shore, man sprang from earth's soil
Thy spirit rebels, this fate thy wrongs bring
Death offers its hells, dare thee to now sing
Thy request I grant, gifting thee a week
If vows thee recant, and curse as you speak
Bow to my power, I death ruleth all
I gift thee more hours, walk in my dark halls
One week I return, more time thee may earn
My deadly flame burns, thy love I so spurn
Then you must submit, curse thy day of birth
I have thus seen fit, to measure thy worth
Giveth me your praise, bow to my great strength
Life is a maze, thine I can give more length.
~ Away Death has flown, human spirit asks ~
~ Have I been shown, glimpse behind death's black-mask ~
Robert J. Lindley, 11-21-2018
Sonnet(s)- Part One
Note: Tale of Life, Fate And Death , written in four sonnets
Part One- Double Sonnets
Part Two, Double sonnets- Will faith hold power or temptation of having longer life rule. To be written, in due time...
Wired mortal from the English Art
Banished from his home, spotted from a distance
Noble amongst scrawling African inscriptions
First veneration of mystical minds
Take a bow, take a bow.
Obliterating deliberate disregard
From interrupters of our histories,
With trophies, allays a regret and loss
So little for so great a heart,
Take a bow, take a bow.
Liberal lord of limpid looks
Grand philosophy too many for little minds,
Art of African arts
Impenetrable obscurity to the impatient,
Take a bow, take a bow.
Entangled genus in the darkest harbor,
Found in a waste howling wilderness,
Left to die in the gaols like their many kills,
And death too weak, spewed him in his flowers
Take a bow, take a bow.
Scrupulous dexterity of the bearded laurel
Multitudinous nobility and countless soothing saccharine
A restoration of our dignity not celebrated, and un-sung.
Tyrannous candor engulfed intelligential
Take a bow, take a bow.
Obdurate at the palaces of murderers
Smiling at military cavalcades, the terror of comrades.
Where barrels pacify the wrangling of children men.
A beholding bluff like Ogun’s iron garb
Take a bow, take a bow.
Yea, the snow-like signature in scraggy form
Impresses nature’s validity on his authority,
Corroding flesh lacerate aptness from his brow
Gyrating orbits of unmatched intelligence
Take a bow, take a bow.
Invisible man from the “kongi” kingdom
Imposing trepidation on pharaohs in the jungle,
Brawny penchant where others retire,
On Lagos streets and London’s courtyard
Take a bow, take a bow.
Nibble in niggle, stripping rogues of honor
Loathing unsavory milk unlike sycophants
Discarding opulence to mediate for the poor
With no reward or crown in intention
Take a bow, take a bow.
Knack for wars with imperious monsters
A constant blustery of unrepentant “Vagabonds”
Dusk till dawn, yearning for Justice.
Crying still, for murdered motherland
Take a bow, take a bow.
And if he dies tomorrow,
As death to all must come,
His posture, a statue for ever,
On our minds and in those rulers of the jungle.
Take a bow, take a bow.
Dedicated to Prof. Wole Soyinka
Nobel Laurate 1986
You didn’t tell all, mother!
In front of profusely smoking lamp,
Fighting with stubborn darkness,
In dim light
While brushing up alphabet lessons
You told me
That this would imbue
Brightness in my life someday,
But darkness is still unfurling
Like a flag of its victory
In this nuclear age;
Rupturing silence of dark night
When I used to get
Scared of wolf’s hooting
You always recounted,
‘Taking shelter of darkness,
Out of fear of human being
They would never venture
To come out in light’
Wolves are roaming
In city malls these days
Allays of town are replete
With their modern fashions
And men are confined to
Shrinking space of their home;
Education would entail
A social, economic and cultural change
Though, you hide truth
A better change,
Money would ensure
All the communications
Whereas everything else would
Be rendered mute!
Autumn at an Automat
Austere aloofness.
Assessment approbation.
Allays apathy.
Inspired by Brian Strand’s Imagine Contest
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Automat_(painting)
Poetic Form: Ekphrasis (Art Inspired) Haiku with Alliteration.
Abandoning me in boredom,
Now I see dis will lead a fruitless sojourn,
Wat really does dis hold for a prospective forum,
Surely I feel u desire d formation of a quorum,
Shall I always cage my unleashing dictum?
Align towards d sweetest pit of a heart and pray 2 remain at d bottom,
What gradually generates an auspicious occasion?
Do we uncociously relay d function?
Certainty already proposes a condition?
Probably an excuse 2 eternal accommodation,
Sadly she ignores d clarity of a freshly cooked portion,
In commemoration all dat she fires is jst 'A Question,
Surely dis humble poet never expected such as an appreciation,
Off she goes to properly protect any consolidation,
An encouragement she throws forward pretending 2 understand?
Promulgating constantly is her doctrine of intricate negativity,
Well in futuro Her terms might enunciate Longevity,
A switch of facts might streamline an expected positivity,
Oh yes she finally gives up 2 a plea of austerity,
Right here all of which allays further delays tends towards extricating sincerity.
RESTLESS 11
(Mind, Body and Heart)
Kinetics, is what myself move
Rest in me is what myself has been exorcised
As my mind makes myself active
Move, move, move and always move
Makes myself happy and physically fit
to live.
There’s no reason for recharging
As early when I wake up in the morning
Its automatic I find myself working
It goes with the clock tik and tak, tik and tak
tikking and rhyming
It goes with my heart throbbing.
To perspire now and then is like my medicine
Inhaling and consequently exhaling
Makes my dull moments goes on thriving
As I find myself always truly charging
Rotating, revolving, aspiring and inspiring
without, sparingly.
However, when to rest in silence
Then to stop insists and to stop breathing
That I believe like battery busted bade goodbye
Muscles downed in drain makes the difference
Hands and feet straight no more locomotion.
At times physically is only a retriever
Is what makes the joints allays fears
Commencing to live parried without to burn
For it may go without saying: leaving the burden
To a halt and the rendezvous just discard.
But where I’ve been continually moving
Is where I’m confidently and happily rejoicing
Determined to finish a work instead for rewarding
The contract is the most self-rewarding and consuming
As doldrums hide away the past in self-adoration!