Best Ash Poems
There he sat among the ashes, thinking he was, oh, so good,
Just a tiny glowing ember that was once a piece of wood,
And he thought that he was better than the embers there that day,
But, alas, he didn't know that soon his pride would turn him gray.
There were many other embers that were crowding out his space,
They were vying for attention and were trying to keep the pace,
He believed they were a nuisance and he felt they were a pain,
And he knew that they were jealous, and it rubbed against his grain.
"I'm an ember in the ashes and I'm burning hot inside,
I've a reason to be boastful and to feel such awesome pride,
For the others here beside me are just living off my heat,
I'm the one who is important; in myself I am complete."
So he sparkled and he crackled and he told them all to move,
For he thought he didn't need them and he had a thing to prove,
So they rolled into the centre and they left him on the side,
And his glowing heart got bigger and it filled him up with pride.
Very soon he seemed to notice such a change inside of him,
For his glowing heart grew weaker and his light was getting dim,
But the others who had left him were still glowing bright and strong,
What had happened to this ember; could it be that he was wrong?
"I'm an ember in the ashes, but I'm feeling very weak,
I once thought I had a future, but it's looking rather bleak,
And the ones who I rejected are still glowing hot and bright,
Now I think I was mistaken and that they were truly right."
Now the tiny little ember, all alone and getting cold,
Sits among the lowly ashes and is feeling not so bold,
And the pride that once he harboured, that would make him spark and flash,
Has betrayed him in this moment and has turned him into ash.
--submitted to Be Didactic poetry contest - May 07, 2017
For good, the Druid woods claimed this girl child for its own;
nymphs named the silk-skinned, raven-black of her, Fianna.
This night, she’s hurt hunting demons in her mother’s grove.
She recalls, her fright at five, abandoned in these woods alone.
Nymphs named the silk skinned, raven-black of her, Fianna,
by-blow of a Moor, left as dross in these weird weeping;
she recalls, her fright at five, abandoned in these woods alone.
An adept now, she aids the Weird in its fight with rising hell.
By-blow of a Moor, left as dross in these weird weeping,
raised by the fey, she was taught good from evil well.
An adept now, she aids the glade in its fight with rising hell;
her blessed-onyx points, caste blackhearts from the dell.
Raised by the fey, she was taught good from evil well.
The Blood moon’s rise brings hell’s minions out in droves;
her blessed-onyx points, caste blackhearts from the dell.
Defilers die by her hand and Druid bow bespelled.
The Blood moon’s rise brings hell's minions out in droves.
Rain caught in the leaves revives; moss clots her blood.
Defilers die by her hand and Druid bow bespelled,
as she protects the oak and ash from whispering hell.
Rain caught in the leaves revives; moss clots her blood.
This night, she’s hurt hunting demons in her mother’s grove
as she protects the oak and ash from whispering hell.
For good, the Druid woods claimed this girl child for its own.
First Published by After the Pause
A plastic smile
He waves hello
To all his friends
He'll never know
Beneath his skin
There lives the sin
Protected by
The hurt within
A silent wish
A crazy thought
How does one kill
A mind distraught?
An answer looms
As dead as leaves
It covers life
In gasoline
A matchstick lit
An open sore
A fire burns
Consumes the core
The pain is gone
Forevermore
When all that's left
Ash on the floor
Burnt Into Ash My Sad Soul Looks Far Back
In youth, my spirit was a climbing vine
dressed in green leaves upon white oak tree
Seeking light, I was walking a true line
in shade of path that was truly free
Storms weathered sheltering branches
bringing sun's hot beams upon my head
I sought more, took gravest of chances
of true love's blessing and being well fed
Once cast upon dirt and parched ground
my legs found needed strength to run
Racing winds sent that deceiving sound
soon, I forgot the heat of blazing sun
Burnt into ash my sad soul looks far back
Long ago, in tree's top, I was once on track
Robert J. Lindley, 7-14-1999
I Winter In Fallen Ash Of Burnt Dreams
I winter in fallen ash of burnt dreams
an armadillo, shell removed eyes blinded.
As time crawls on, midnight moon proudly beams
by its hollow glow, heart is reminded
this world operates with dark and wicked teams.
Sinking naked form into blacken earth
sad prisoner of this world's raging decay.
As evil winds from hell howl out their worth
others cry begging, let them have their way
man is truly cursed since before his birth.
Lo! Raging storms lay true romance to waste
spilled wine seeps and grapes rot on withering vines.
True, chosen few approve of its new taste
even honesty must pay heavy fines
both life and sweetest hope are sold like toothpaste.
I winter in fallen ash of burnt dreams
an armadillo, shell removed eyes blinded.
As time crawls on, midnight moon proudly beams
by its hollow glow, heart is reminded
this world generates more dark and wicked teams.
Robert J. Lindley,
Rhyme, (Dark Poetry, Sorrow's Basket)..
Dust & Ash
Meteors falling from the sky
like stars sparkling in the night.
The volcano’s dust forms
below Iceland’s clouds.
Life stops.
Pilots stand.
Air traffic is discontent,
as the volatile atmosphere erupts.
Through the blocking of the sun,
volcanic ash plumes.
The earth will be cool
for a year or two.
A washout will come.
Iceland’s dust and ash – gone.
__________________________/
*About This Poem: Volcanic ash plume from Cleveland Volcano, located on Chuginadak
Island in the Aleutian Island Chain off Alaska. NASA image taken by Jeff Williams,
Flight Engineer, from the International Space Station. Please view @
http://geology.com/articles/volcanic-ash.shtml.
__________________________/
Sponsor: nette onclaud
Contest Name: A NIGHT SKY
User Name: Verlena S. Walker
Nom De Plume: Oblivion Dark Sunshine
Date of Entry: March 20, 2014
Date Written: March 20, 2014
________________________________|
The Saddest Landscape (POEM)Contest
Sponsor: SKAT A
User Name: Verlena S. Walker
Nom De Plume: Oblivion Dark Sunshine
Date of Entry: March 22, 2014
Date Written: March 20, 2014
I will not have a carved tombstone;
the wind will carry me.
I've stayed in one place long enough;
one place, one form, one old tome.
I will not lie beneath the soil,
and compost for you see;
I've stayed in one place one enough
on the wayward wind I'll be.
Astral ash, silvered cinders, see
the hills crest, the vale deep,
the tallest pines won't be enough;
snowcovered peaks; be my home.
The jungles deep will shelter me
in flowers rouge, I'll roil.
I've stayed in one place long enough.
I'll ride rapids to the sea.
Not in a crypt, nor box, nor vase
none of them for I decree;
I've stayed in one place long enough
the brash wind will carry me.
* Dedicated to Andie & Fredrick for the inspiration.
All was hushed this eerie dawn
For ash had claimed the day
Disguising shape and muffling noise
Enshrouding all in grey--
Long the haze had swathed the cliffs
In veils of silver white
Till overnight like fleeting soot
It vanished with the light.
Any Poem
Born Of Ash, Under Fires That Fed False Olympic Gods
Born of ash, under fires that fed false Olympic gods
First, scrounging this earth, as dark-clad beasts
Blinded, heaven gazing, begging to be lightning rods
Creating hallow golden halls, to throw huge orgy feasts.
And Fate ordered, moaning echoes to fly in darkened winds
Against its great rival Time and how foolishly it spends.
Was her salty kiss, waves of honey sent from cavernous pits
Her promises, sad curses hidden in golden warped lies
She blinded by wanton pleasures and her deep venomous spits
Oaths sworn under hellish whispers and blackest of skies.
And Fate ordered, moaning echoes to fly in darkened winds
Against its great rival Time and how foolishly it spends.
Born of ash, under fires that fed false Olympic gods
First, scrounging this earth, as dark-clad beasts
Blinded, heaven gazing, begging to be lightning rods
Creating hallow golden halls, to throw huge orgy feasts.
R.J. Lindley
May 9th, 1973
Rhyme , (When Truth Was Asked)
Note- Deleted....
Ash Wednesday
Ash Wednesday, the day to confess and repent
As we enter the solemn season of Lent
The ashes remind us that "Dust thou art"
And one day from this world we will depart.
Worldwide, the faithful honor this tradition
With devotional hearts and sincere contrition
But, sadly, some people are not so disposed
To "Love thy neighbor" their hearts are closed.
Thus, the Russian leader is attacking Ukraine
Causing destruction and inflicting pain
Amidst the bombings and rocket flashes
Businesses and dwellings are reduced to ashes.
Today sacred ashes we wear on our forehead
But whose soul will bear the ashes of the dead?
The guilt of this burden to the tyrant is given
In the eternity to come can he ever be shriven?
Molly Moore
******This old post deserves another posting, I tried to convey the tragedy of war and is hauntingly reflecting of current world affairs; ...'Where once stood great Love' is my favourite line; the word 'once' is given emphasis towards the insanity of intentional destruction, and a once beautiful place is forgotten and lost forever. I think the last line and the idea of rebuilding from war's destruction is the notion that its best to evolve past the whole possibility of war, so that the rebuilding is permanent...******
A distant wood grows its gossamer,
A near vale,
wetted and forgotten
cries alone,
where rains fall forever ----
Where once babes lay down
in the cool of grasses green,
and a brook,
where once rippled
an elven tune of old;
Now silent as the seasons here,
where once stood great Love,
on a throne of gold,
midst the broken palisades and halls ----
a near vale (now)
wetted and forgotten,
Only the breeze of sad memory....
the weeded roads and rubble ----
whisper from their ashes,
" Let us rebuild what war has claimed "
I am both a brown and an ash horse
As ash I limp a little and tilt too
In the blue field
As brown I keep words in your jar
Till they are butterfly to disappear
In the multicolored air
I wanted them for my hair
Time did not care
I want to put my white rings
In your embroidered oval box
Awesome nothings that are everything
Come out as rhododendrons
As we draw the crayons
Some of them in the wings of a heron
Gold and orange splashing lyrics
Linger please
A little
As the lamplight chats with the keen leaves
Of the money plant beside my bed
I pant for words of poetry
Fireflies laugh with green glee
Last night some stars fell there
I look for them now near my pillow
The ash laughs
Red and green up and down
In the cardiograph
Billows are all gone
While putting on the gown
Eyes reach at the mirror
The brown wears a crown
November 21, 2017
The anacrusis, please, andante maestoso,
six bars, before the chorus comes… Hell, what is wrong
with you, the mighty mage of music, virtuoso,
the treble clefsmith? Why the plain and silly song
a pretty flower girl sings outside the window
on her way home from night dating made you put
aside your magic bow? As holy Aurobindo
once said in such a situation: «Ash and soot,
that’s all what’s left of those who dared see the face
of love»… As well as sounds of music, in your case.
Ash Groves
“Down yonder green valley where streamlets meander
When twilight is fading I pensively rove,
Or at the bright noontide in solitude wander
Amid the dark shades of the lonely Ash Grove.
‘Tis there where the blackbird is cheerfully singing,
Each warbler enchants with his note from the tree,
Ah, then little I think of sorrow or sadness,
The Ash Grove enchanting spells beauty for me.”
Wales to me,
Though stranger to my step,
Like the Ash groves on rolling mountains
Blackbirds warble - long days of summer’s smile;
A pensive rover with my Welsh companions
Of Corgi’s, wily terriers
About my feet;
Honoring a Red Dragon, in this land of song
Where songs bequeathed to my heart -
Sung before my time - left for me sing;
In lyrics of canaries free of cages
Rising up from deep shafts of dark coal
Sing out their freedom;
Still heard in voyages ‘cross the Celtic Sea –
Pensive legends of home
‘Cross turbulent oceans;–
Finding rolling mountains to climb
Upon Liberty’s broad wings
To Ash groves of white and blue;
Ne’er forgetting Rock Rose or Snowden Lily
The Red Kite soaring
High up in Welsh hearts;
No more to pensively roam
Through new ash groves of freedom
In this new land of song -
New land of song.
“The ash grove, how graceful how plainly ‘tis speaking
The harp thro’ it playing has language for me…
The Ash Grove alone is my home.”
Based on the Welsh folk song “Ash Grove.”
Song form AABAABA
Part of my family came from Wales to Kentucky and Tennessee in the 1800’s. Their last name was Henderson.
7-2-20
There is a black fire that reigns upon this land
It burns beyond the red and yellow flames
Dead and done to skies of cinder and ash
To choke voices in the dread of darkest hours
We struggle to empower our meaning
While the giving light of hope
Rides on the slope of choice in its bond to truth
And now lays reposed to guide
In the blighted dead of smoke and lies
A living fallacy this madness
Our demise battles with our sullen cries
As our soul's sadness clings
To the countless sacrifice
For equality in the decades of man
With great boundless fading grief
This disempowering shore of insanity
Opens its door with no relief from the exercise of hate
To suffocate liberty
To implore our beliefs with crushing weight
To have us flounder at the shores of possibility
Taking our final breath, our truth and freedom to restore
August 14, 2020
Be Inspired Poetry Contest
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