Best Among Poems
One need not read her horoscope to know
this woman's fate, and though wisteria
cascades sweet blooms of lavender like snow
outside her door, it's still Siberia
pervading the dimensions of her mind,
for not one fickle thought or patch of moss
can thrive where bleakest shadows are enshrined.
No bittersweet, no dew drops. . . only loss
surrounds her heart. She tries to reminisce,
but like a barren continent grown cold,
she can't perceive one particle of bliss.
She's clasping grief and cannot be consoled!
Wisteria's perfume is in the breeze,
but in her soul remains a winter's freeze.
The widow among roses,
though a scent so sweet
she smells to near smile,
how red the vibrance of life
and soft the petals caress
her lonely cheek,
she remembers her love lost
(her left eye a tombstone glass)
and seizes not to yearn it back ---
The Blacklady among crimson;
her desert rains evermore night and day,
and still the dunes of her heart soak not with love,
the arrid wind still shoots the sand
through her wasteland unbetrothed,
where the sun never rises,
nor never beautifully it sets
through her tombstone eye
She walks the night dressed in white,
her wedding gown a sight for ghosts
and phantoms do fright;
they cannot haunt ---
this foot-in-the-grave-soul,
glowing white-red howling at the moon
To true midnite her feet carries her so,
where the river rushes reflecting
forever moon glow
Where the nymph and sylph and dryad never go,
whispering and wondering ---
gazing to this lady alone,
this poor begotten thing ---
this shadow unto death,
who filled with eternal tears
(seated in some unknown place)
her nose in roses, and her mind always in the past
(grieving life)
and mourning some faceless man
*** Inspired from a friend's mother, who at the age
of 40 --- all but gave up on life at the death of her
husband, which deeply saddened me ***
As a misty autumn succumbs to winters harsh chilling grasp.
The sky turns bleak and hues of shrouding grey.
The ominous days unfold shorter and colder.
The remnants of vegetation lie pitifully withered and sparse,
as nature rests dead and in the throws of decay.
Early morning frost like sprinkled powder
smothers a barren land
and shards of ice hang from naked trees as fingers of a hand.
Dew drops appear like goose bumps,
along a parade of wrinkly naked trees.
Bare branches and rooftops seem lifeless,
as birds have no desire for frosty serenades.
Trampled iced leaves, decay in ashen damp air,
as snail-like sluggish humanity adorns its seasonal fleece.
Despite winter's scentless bitter breaths,
the soul ignites an internal bonfire -
radiating a vigilant glow to the surface.
Silent One collaboration with Peter Dome.
13 November 2020
Thank you Peter for this brilliant collaboration.
Peter is a very talented poet, please check out his poetry.
Along a fence and out into a field I amble;
seduced by a tree surrounded by flowers, I stroll toward a small hill.
Gentle is this grassy slope
redolent of sweet birch and the wildflowers birthed from fertile
earth. I’m at ease as my eyes embrace a valley
extending endlessly with emerald enchantment.
Nature’s nakedness is lush!
Auspicious day! All around me is the ambiance of
spring and scent of grass where sheep now graze.
Gathering sun’s rays, Nature glistens, for she’s become
radiant from her recent rendezvous with Rain!
As Sun in azure sky arrives with all his ardor,
sparrows sing in my shady tree, soothing me.
Sanguine is my soul
as I lie down in the grass
amidst green splendor.
Written March 1, 2016
for Anthony Biaanco's "In the Grass" Contest
winter
do not forget among the loss of flowers
me
beneath your death of snow
do not forget that bird of sun
the trees gave down there bending branches
to light the grass where love made little flowers
do not forget my love
the lights most fragile gift the sky
bowed low to give a blushing praise
to the joyful dance of star and moon
do not forget the nesting hope of spring
the freed sparrow of your fingers
the silence more deep then words
remember me in the summerless field
the slender moment bereft of rain
before life and you became
We each have a guardian angel
Here to guide us every day
And to guard us from the dangers
That we meet along the way.
You may not ever see your angel
But you'll know you're in his care
When you turn and see the pitfalls
That you didn't know were there.
Some time when it is quiet
And the light is growing dim,
You may lift your eyes up quickly
And just get a glimpse of him.
He sends an angel frequency
That only you can hear.
If you keep your ear tuned to it,
He will come in loud and clear.
That voice of caution you had thought
Was only in your head
Is from the angel God has sent you
So you'll never be misled
By false voices all around you
That would make you lose your way.
Thank God for your guardian angel
Every time you kneel to pray.
"All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
And I intend to end up there." Rumi
In search of my beloved,
my supernova soul was born,
floating among gardens of glistening galaxies,
adoring heavenly hues of sapphire,
amethyst and emerald constellations,
where efflorescence butterflies,
fluttered among elysian scents.
Yet I still yearned for her forbidden fragrance.
Cultivating the art of transcendental romance,
euphoric emotions wrote an amaranthine aubade,
hoping the universe would hear my call,
as my love is a timeless lunar lullaby,
lingering like a flute echoing moonstone melodies,
where passion travels with each
nocturnal note composing a cosmic chorus,
ordained from an orchestra of galactic halos.
At twilight, in a playground of primrose promises,
millions of pulsar pearls appeared.
Silent and still, sentimental stars shimmering,
listening to the desires of my heart,
but at dawn they were always forgotten.
In my hallucination of loneliness,
fatigued from evanescent entities,
I awaited to hear her halcyon harmony,
until echoes vibrated from the moon,
so I became a slave to moonlight -
but it too, abandoned me at daylight.
Must I forever be the victim of selfish sunrise?
Upon the elegance of an ethereal eternal eclipse.
the last star wept sacred stardust on autumn leaves,
which glowed as they withered from scarlet to saffron.
In Nebula's November cull of death,
I fell like a comet in a meteor shower,
betrayed, falling into a quasar black hole -
lost forever.
Without interstellar lyrics,
I no longer illuminate,
maybe some light is too bright.
But, I know there is a rustic rose,
blossoming upon vintage shores,
so, every night I look up to the sky,
wondering where you are?
In these realms, within which I roam,
I watch each star suffocate
from the suppression of affection.
Seems no spectral spirit is selfless enough
to ignite this symphony of silence.
Maybe I was born a cosmic Casanova.
Maybe I'm just an intergalactic Romeo.
She ventured far beyond Earth's realm
past cordoned confines of heart and soul
Tumbled, as did Alice, down the rabbit hole
Drifted, like an Autumn leaf blown from an elm
She soared past distant planets,
on paths lighted by effulgent moons
Weaved her tears among Saturn's rings
and all the while she was gathering stardust
before they mingled with sand on Mars' dunes.
From mountain peaks of Jupiter,
she bottled mist, to which she clings
And all these amazing interstellar things
were collected as caressive tokens for him;
the one she had vowed to love more than life.
From far reaches of dark galaxies
she held treasures from her jaunt;
Mystical items she hoped he'd want
brilliant beacons of silvered moonbeams,
fading light, captured as the sun dimmed.
She carefully wrapped her gifts to offer
in layers of cosmic flecks from a comet's tail.
Trussed with silken threads of time, unraveled,
she tied celestial troves she would soon proffer
to the one for whom she holds in fervent affection.
From his heart, she hoped would spill
the love that somehow waned to a trickle.
Then in abundance, once more it would flow
like a wildly churning river, Yes, she loves him still
There are those engaged in pedagogy
To facilitate the drip... drip... drip
Of poison to accost a child's ear.
Maneuvering with glee and juicy decadence...
Sequestering all they say and hear.
Filled with righteous indignation
And a blind sanctification to their cause.
They pervert both judge and jury...
Twisting truth with sainted claws.
Under a veil of woeful ignorance...
They molest and kink impeccant minds.
When pressed to divulge their scribblings...
They graciously decline.
'You've not the right!' They blindly scream.
'Your fear and doubt is blatantly absurd.
We are gentle shepherds of our flock...
But you'll just have to take our word.'
For far too long we've abdicated our
Responsibility to these purveyors of disruption.
As they've repackaged long failed ideologies...
Fattening our children for destruction.
Nothing good comes from darkness
Except mushrooms and a willingness to deceive.
And proselytizing children like some fungi...
Seems unnecessarily naive.
These predators, race-baiters and gangsters
Are akin to an unruly cockroach in the night.
They happily go about their sordid business
Till someone dares to shine a light.
If you refuse to rise and shine that light...
Then we be back where this began.
But there are still foxes in the chicken-coop...
There be wolves among the lambs.
The End
*Follow my cartoon at Webtoon Bob's your uncle
*Pedagogy: -the principles and methods of instruction.
-the activities of teaching.
As a misty autumn succumbs to winters harsh chilling grasp.
The sky turns bleak and hues of shrouding grey.
The ominous days unfold shorter and colder.
The remnants of vegetation lie pitifully withered and sparse,
as nature rests dead and in the throes of decay.
Early morning frost like sprinkled powder
smothers a barren land
and shards of ice hang from naked trees as fingers of a hand.
Dewdrops appear like goosebumps,
along a parade of wrinkly naked trees.
Bare branches and rooftops seem lifeless,
as birds have no desire for frosty serenades.
Trampled iced leaves, decay in ashen damp air,
as snail-like sluggish humanity adorns its seasonal fleece.
Despite winter's scentless bitter breaths,
the soul ignites an internal bonfire -
radiating a vigilant glow to the surface.
Silent One collaboration with Peter Dome.
13 November 2020
let's not speak of it again
least it festers and takes hold
leaving despair in our hearts
let's dance among the stars
and shine among moonbeams
concentrating on our friendship
let's nurture each other,
facing a fresh new horizon with optimsm and hope
join me if you dare
whirling rose petals
as they move to dream music
sunflower acclaim
dips in dahlias
orange yellow cream and red
spins past snapdragons
four o'clock fragrance
and flourishes near fuchsias
forget-me-not fame
When the rain falls from
Heavens that God created,
we accept through Faith.
When a story's told
of long ago we doubt, Oh
Ye of little faith ..
Black Death Among The Shadows Does Gaily Roam
Black death among the shadows did roam
deep in solitude its power reigns.
Nowhere and everywhere it calls sweet home
and always its appearance brings pains.
Through fords, over mountains into gentle seas
fate sends its messenger in a black shroud.
Never to be stopped by the many crying pleas
or women moaning and wailing out loud.
Its only victorious foe, the light of eternal life
where our Redeemer's truth and divine love grows.
Delivering us from depths of misery and strife,
brought by suffering from fear of death's throes.
Black death among the shadows does gaily roam
Yet tis forever forbidden in God's sweet home.
Robert J. Lindley, 4-21-2016
Note--- INSPIRED BY A THREE POEMS READ THIS MORN..
My thanks goes to these three great poets for the inspiration
to write this sonnet this morn-- Peter Duggan, Lin Lane and Seeker..
A little gal from India I hope you all have met.
Nonetheless, please meet her soon if you haven’t yet!
A mother, poetess, and wife - she came to Soup one day.
Now it’s been a bit more than a year.
Growing her talent, she is here to stay,
Earning the respect of every poet peer.
Lovingly she labors to create her art.
Anitha is the name of this poetess.
Many are her attributes. She gives her heart,
Offering kind remarks – our souls to bless.
Naturally friendly and wise is she -
Gifted, gracious, generous and good.
Unending may my bond with “Ani” be,
Sharing in the fruits of a sweet sisterhood.
December 12, 2021
For ''A'' Forms, New Poems, 10 Or More Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France