Best Balked Poems
The Black Hills wept for Thee
East of the Black Hills of South Dakota,
On the Pine Ridge Reservation,
Live a proud tribe of Oglala Lakota,
Part of the Great Sioux Nation.
On saddled chargers rode half the Regiment,
of the Seventh Cavalry.
A tune they played on behalf of the GarryOwen,
was such a sight to see.
While climbing through Prickly pines, they spied,
near the summit of Porcupine Butte.
Spotted Elk with Hunkpapa Lakota tribe,
the chief of the Minneconjou.
Five miles West through the cold day they walked,
the Lakota and soldiers of the Seventh,
Where Wounded Knee creek's icy waters balked,
between hell and heaven.
The Colonel ordered all of the tribe's rifles confiscated,
while the braves danced the ghost dance.
For rumor had spread of a new religion, long awaited,
that would turn the tide of chance.
Then suddenly came the report of rifles fired,
as the women and children fled to a ravine.
From the heights the thunder of cannon, now inspired,
close quarter fighting and lead, now convened.
Who knows where Providence went,
on that cold December morning.
Both guilty and innocent, now spent,
lay dead with little warning.
Bodies of the fallen now sprawled across the snowy plains,
with faces frozen in a moment of violence.
One mass grave with all, is all that remains,
of tears and laughter forever silenced.
In the days that followed medals were pinned to chests,
who proclaimed victoriously.
Though God only knows why, ignoble and divest,
life taken in vain, ingloriously.
In the shadow of the land of Sitting Bull,
was now told the tragic story.
Passed down from Mother to Daughter were recounted,
days of lost glory.
“Let us put our minds together to see what life we can make for our children.”
-Sitting Bull
Yet Pushed, Ever Onward, I Dare Tread
BEHOLD, I wade into darkening mists,
My journey, clarification of Fate
When I balked, black ghost said, I insist
Hurry destiny cries it is too late,
Strolling deep within, horrific the sounds
So strangely pungent the circling winds
In distant valleys, baying of the hounds-
I fear what that hideous sign portends.
Now so afraid, through weeping years I trod
Searching, ever onward, I did thus tread.
My shield, simply faith in Light and my God
And bushels of truth, to me, life has fed.
I pray for salvation of divine light.
Blessed ending of this courageous flight.
Robert J. Lindley, 9-02-2021
Sonnet(dark)
Whispered words from behind a wall,
to cronies gathered short and tall.
“Go on ahead,” he said, “let's see.”
“If I can turn her sweet on me.”
So from within, she heard the tale:
the rye, small, snickers, the wolves’ wails.
Yet, like the doe in the fires light,
the wail entranced, did not cause fright.
Wide-eyed, so stunned, the morsel stood,
in frozen stance within the wood.
Within his reach and steady glance,
the hunter broached the ancient dance.
With swagger, grace, he set the pace.
the honeyed tongued Knight on the chase.
He spoke words of honor, brave deeds,
of his claimed virtues she took heed.
“No, ” said the Maid, for she was shy.
“I’m afraid,” she moaned. “Do you lie?”
He turned her chin, and eye to eye,
stroked her fair cheek and heard her sigh.
Offered cake to this starving waif,
with trembling hands, she took the bait.
For upon his lips and rough skin,
She could, sweet-sugar, taste within.
He sought the warmth of her blood; bone.
He thought the conquest was his own.
Yet, she too held a hope within,
to bring forth the goodness in him.
Oh, she could feel his aching need,
'Twas his seedling soul, she'd feed.
The prey, prayed, to touch his heart.
to give the Hunter a new start.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Many’s the times, his teeth came near,
to the pulsing vein in her throat.
Many times the Universe stopped
like a dandelion seed afloat.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The hunter balked, stayed for a time,
tasted the joy of her sweet wine;
loving the feel of a drink new,
a gift, love, offered each of you.
Could he extinguish this pure light?
Could He reciprocate, cause fright?
Sorry, was the wolf deep within.
He was sorry; she’d let him in.
Sorry, he couldn't grow in her arms,
Sorry, he couldn't loose to her charms.
“Sorry,” on the tip of his tongue.
As he left her, unharmed, on run.
“Sorry.” said she, rising higher,
made stronger by her pure desire.
Like the ancient Phoenix, she rose,
on the wings of her loves fire.
And prayer floated back from above.
A prayer, sent with her hearts' love.
echoing his sentiment many ways.
“Sorry Love," She said.
"May the Wolf find his Way.”
Blind...with the beauty and symmetry of nature
Can't espy the astonishing and sedate scenes of ardor
Just living with the greatest and blindest darkness
Imageless and almost senseless...
Deaf...with the mellifluous and profound music of amity
Can't harken the serene and blithe tune of natural creativity
Just living with my own nothingness
Dumb and almost senseless...
Mute...can't explode feelings and heartstrings through words and expositions
Can't speak and expound my real emotions
Can't shout out loud,just living with silence - soundless
Dumb and almost senseless...
Paralyzed...can't accomplish what was desired to achieve
Can't act,can't execute,can't move - there's no relieve
Just living with myself,occupied by loneliness
Cripple and now USELESS
Balked,feeble,depraved,weak - a YOUNG LOOSER
But will never SURRENDER
Still BREATHING
BELIEVING...
KNEELING...
PRAYING...
***coz' GOD knows...
Yet Pushed, Ever Onward, I Dare Tread
BEHOLD, I wade into darkening mists,
My journey, clarification of Fate
When I balked, black ghost said, I insist
Hurry destiny cries, it is too late,
Strolling deep within, horrific the sounds
So strangely pungent the circling winds
In distant valleys, baying of the hounds-
I fear what that hideous sign portends.
Now so afraid, through weeping years I trod
Yet pushed, ever onward, I dare tread
My shield, simply faith in Light and my God
And bushels of truth, to me, life has fed
I pray for salvation of divine light
Blessed ending of this courageous flight.
Robert J. Lindley, 9-02-2021
Sonnet(dark)
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2021
It was nailed up at the huge door,
Where people dishonestly balked.
I wondered what for.
I walked up to watch the shuffling flock.
There are too many people in the crowd,
For anyone to notice now.
The silence here is far too loud.
95 could never describe,
Why I couldn't walk in.
Like I was doomed to be forgivable,
And on earth just to repent.
She told me
In another life it might make sense,
For things to explode with a single glimpse.
I watch them live to see the end.
I am not something picked off of the wreckage,
A vector for your epidemic.
The highest abuse is the great lengths
Repeatedly reached
For defeat;
To keep yourself down on your knees.
A lost soul is a soul set free.
I saw god when I saw the riot in me.
And if you'd rise, you also would see;
God is who you let yourself be.
Outback of Blue Moons neighborhood grill and bar,
Sat deacon Jones old beat up car.
An old car he used that few people knew,
To help hide the fact that he was addicted to the Devil's Brew.
Then next day with a smiling face and blood shot eyes,
He greeted the congregation hoping no one there would be the wise.
A ruse he did so very well,
In his pretense from going straight to hell.
His Amen's all heard throughout the church,
As the preacher, preached from upon his perch.
All thought he was such an example for all,
But little they knew he was about to fall.
For through the door a new convert walked,
And Brother Jones suddenly balked.
For she was the cocktail waitress at the Blue Moon bar,
And she had ridden a many night in Brother Jones old car.
Brother Jones was trapped like a rat aboard a sinking ship,
Knowing his goose would be cooked if she opened her lip.
A cold, cold sweat ran from his wrinkled brow.
Wanting to leave but he didn't know how.
Preacher had an altar call and guess who was there for all to see,
Our good Brother Jones was the first one there to bend a knee.
Silently he prayed the Lord to forgive his sins,
With a footnote he said Lord get me out of this mess and I wont do it again.
Dragon has left the winter behind; but’s still wound up & flighty as a bat.
He’s in competition with a friend, to be more creative than Dear old Jack.
He wants to make Dragon concrete art, for with Jack Ellison, to compete!
If Jack can do 1700 poems, he won’t rest until 1700 statues, are complete.
He already sells concrete Dragon footprints, popular wherever he goes.
We use them as stepping-stones on our land, everywhere, you know!
First he wants a leaning tower of Dragon, to help scare away our moles.
Then a Dragon Colosseum, within which to practice... our Ninja Trolls.
Next a splash pool you can walk thru, with Dragons to touch and to hold.
He’ll build the Great Wall of Dragon, complete with a kiddy slide, I’m told!
Another idea is a Statue of Liberty Dragon with music coming from inside.
All of it patriotic, as sung by our illustrious and greatly talented Troll choir.
Then Dragon street lamps, to light up & make life safer, throughout the lands!
The Mayor said he could make all this into a new tourist ‘Dragon Land’.
Disney World ‘Eat your heart out!’ We truly DO know, where IT is truly at!
But Dragon balked at being made a comic strip character at first, how sad!
But we told him Super Heroes are in comic books, throughout ALL the land.
Now he will become, ‘Dragon with a D’, of course, with lots of adoring fans.
If you want to be in his comics, Holler ‘HELP’! I’ll write you in, like a pro!
Between exploring his new escapades, he’ll be making his own statues, so...
Yea! He’s doing untold number of poses, to be put in…The City Park!
This should make the Sheriff of Crazyland, simply… Happy as a Lark!
We’ll start with a Dragon Festival there, with Dragon dances everywhere.
Firemen Welcome as Parade floats of Paper Dragons, dance as they sail by!
Dragon sees himself as a Super-dillious-ish Hero, as his stories spin each day!
But Dragon as a comic book figure? Naw! He can’t picture it… No Way!
So we’ll just have to keep that part to ourselves, as sparks fall on his parade.
For you simply have to remember that... REALITY is NOT his thing!
Written 5-21-2015
THEY MARCHED* for miles in blistering heat
THEY MARCHED with nothing to drink or eat
THEY MARCHED as soldiers, Filipinos alike,
THEY MARCHED over trails others had hiked
BLOOD FILLED the path of those who balked
STOPPING MEANT death--thus, they walked
THEY MARCHED through mud caked to the thighs
THEY MARCHED on stones and hills that rise
SOME DROPPED from heat and thirst combined
SOME FROM slashes to throats from behind
THEY MARCHED together or marched alone
THEY MARCHED and marched into the unknown
Present-Day WSMR Bataan Death March Memorial
Each windy March over mountainous paths,
men and women brave Spring's gusty raths
Military groups join those walking alone--
a veteran in wheelchair, pushed by his son.
For exercise class, short march is their pick
others, with heavy packs, march twenty-six
Almost ten thousand from around the world
Many with their banners proudly unfurled.
Some view it a contest, some endurance test,
some view it a chance to perform their best.
Finally, they do it to honor those souls
who marched to death in war's bitter tolls.
*In April, 1942, approximately 20,000 New Mexico Guardsmen, from
all branches of service, and 50,000 Filipinos, were force-marched 66
miles across Bataan Island by the Japanese military near the end of
WW2. They endured extreme hardship and no food or liquid. 16,900
died during the march. Many others later died of dehydration or star-
vation. They are honored each year with a march. Often, many Japanese
join the march.
When I visited Victor today,
overwhelming stench drove me away.
We stood outside and talked.
I complained, and he balked:
“Don’t be mean. I can’t help it. OKAY?”
He let loose with a string of loud pops.
Neighbors fearing gunfire called the cops!
There would be no arrest,
but at neighbors’ behest,
they said, “Sir, make sure this problem stops.”
The police are now summoned no more.
There’s a problem, but not like before,
one that cannot be heard;
thus, no neighbors are stirred,
fearing terror of gunplay’s in store.
Victor has diarrhea a lot,
spending hours a day on the pot.
I declared, “We will go
to the doctor. He’ll know
how to diagnose just what you’ve got!”
Sugar-free treats, as Victor now knows,
were the cause of his gas and poop woes.
Way too many he ate.
Though he thought they were great,
doctor’s orders he did not oppose.
Victor called: “Come and visit me, please.”
I approached his front porch; on the breeze,
came an unpleasant smell.
Before long I could tell
he loves pintos and limburger cheese!
============================================================
Blind...with the beauty and symmetry of nature
Can't espy the astonishing and sedate scenes of ardour
Just living with the greatest and blindest darkness
Imageless and almost senseless...
Deaf...with the mellifluous and profound music of amity
Can't harken the serene and blithe tune of natural creativity
Just living with my own nothingness
Dumb and almost senseless...
Mute...can't explode feelings and heartstrings through words and expositions
Can't speak and expound my real emotions
Can't shout out loud, just living with silence - soundless
Dumb and almost senseless...
Paralyzed...can't accomplish what was desired to achieve
Can't act, can’t execute, can’t move - there's no relieve
Just living with myself, occupied by loneliness
Cripple and now USELESS
Balked, feeble, depraved, weak - a YOUNG LOSER
Living with the lies through one's teeth? Will never be ...
And will never SURRENDER
Still BREATHING
BELIEVING...
KNEELING...
PRAYING...
~~~Armed to the TEETH with Faith and Devotion~~~
============================================================
Trudging on a lonely road
In somewhat desolated and dreary mode
Stumbled upon someone ineffably enchanting
And felt the desire to espouse her, augmenting.
Ah! Her dulcet voice and ravishing charm
That pierced my heart without harm.
I told myself “Yes, I have different goals, peremptory
But to estrange this girl is incendiary”
Having a yak with her was indelible
I asked “When could be our next date? Probable?
She could’ve balked, as her schedule was awry
But she replied “Thursday, dine or a movie?”
The first haphazard kiss was something ethereal.
Oh! Nidhi, my sweetheart, do u belong to Arcadia, for real?
For the moments I spend with you render a catharsis, inexplicable
Frankly, I doubt if I could requite you with something that capable.
I don’t care about the insecurities or the tempests my love would suffer
I’ll always be with you, Love you forever.
Never could I find love commensurate to yours, for me
And I know of nothing as beautiful as your smile for me.
I’m acutely smitten by you
Mind if I bought a Persian kitten for you?
Ms. Brenda Brawling borrowed nothing,
but begged life to bestow her something.
Blistered blue when life barely listened,
she began buying bargain fiction.
By and by, she believed she’d become a book ink fly.
Her heart bade she give her own fantasies a book try.
Brenda bathed blank sheets in beaut romance
billowing with bawdy circumstance.
Brenda bloomed when her pen beget one man’s behavior;
the book’s brawny, bold boatman became her heart’s savior.
Brenda’s book was bought in big, boxed bundles,
so she boasted bling, but felt befuddled.
Daytime, bedtime, both brought baleful feel
born from thoughts baring boatman’s appeal.
Brenda balked, but she well failed to block boatman’s stalk
who wormed her sanity thru fiction’s crosswalk.
Obeying her pen, she beheld him in blissed fantasy blocks.
Now, Brenda’s berserk pen bends her daily at bleak o’clock.
10-9-16
Whispered words from behind a wall
to cronies gathered hale and tall.
“Go on ahead.” He said. “Let me see.”
“If I can turn her sweet, on me.”
From within, she heard the tale,
the rye snickers, the wolves’ wails.
Yet, so like the doe in lantern light,
the wail entranced, did not cause fright.
Wide-eyed, stunned, the morsel stood,
in frozen stance within the wood
within his reach and steady glance,
the wolf approached, as if to dance.
With swaggering grace, he set fast pace,
a honeyed tongued Knight on the chase.
He spoke of honor of valorous deeds,
of his manly virtues, and she took heed.
“No, no, no,” said the Maid, she was shy.
“I’m afraid.” She said. “Do I hear a lie?”
He turned up her chin, and eye to eye,
he stroked her cheek and heard her sigh.
He offered her cake, this starving waif
with trembling hands, she took the bait
for upon his full lips , tongue and skin,
she could taste the sugar deep within.
He sought the warmth of blood and bone,
he thought the conquest all his own.
Yet, she held a hope buried deep within,
to bring forth the goodness, she saw in him.
Oh, she could well feel his aching need,
'twas his seedling soul, she sought to feed,
the prey, prayed, long to touch his heart
to give the wolf a brand-new start.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Many’s the times, his teeth came near
to the blue-red vein in her throat,
and many’s the time the Universe stopped
like a dandelion seed afloat....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The wolf in him balked for a short time,
tasted the joy of goodness’s wine;
loving, and feeling, and drinking anew,
what God has offered to each of you.
Could he extinguish this pure light?
Could he bring death to this delight?
Sorry, for the prey was the wolf within.
He was sore sorry; she’d let him begin.
Sorry, he could not grow in her arms.
Sorry, he could not succumb to her charms.
“Sorry,” was on the tip of his tongue
as he left, the prey on a run.
“Sorry.” said she, as her soul rose higher,
made stronger, though bathed in desire
like the fabled Phoenix so, she rose,
on the white wings of angels in repose.
A prayer floated back, as she drifted above
a prayer, she sent with her heart, to her love.
It echoed his sentiment of so many days.
“Sorry Love…” She said.
“May the Wolf find his Way.”
My cute wife was a giant toad in real life
During birth she changed her bawdy phenotype
She croaked all day
Balked my bouquet
And darted a sly glance at Macauliffe.