Best Balks Poems
Living on a planet, unsure if I belong
Where only sand grains and fossils, seem to last long
The instinct to breathe air, compelling me along
And the miracle that’s water, strives to prolong
Hear the wind blow bending the trees
Feel the bones crack inside my knees
High upon a mountain, an avalanche gives way
Yielding to gravity, and powerful sun rays
Down below I ponder, will this be my last day
Still all goes over my head, as life balks away
Holding my grip busting my balls
gives a nice twist when in free fall
A juggernaut of lies, hurtled down that slope
Widening debris fields, spreading rumours of hope
Is there any big truths, or just lies to help cope
The past looks basic, viewed under a microscope
Fossils don’t lie rocks are not bones
Sand remodels back into stone
I piece together the fossils, search out life’s source
Scream out eureka, til my larynx implodes hoarse
Scan skies for graviton waves, stretching time with force
Try stop that damn avalanche, least alter it’s course
Raw energy blood upon dust
Time’s eternal cascading rust
Evidence can be sketchy, when life forms a scree
In the end information, is all there can be
Empirical pathways, are straightforward to see
If they postulate a god, good enough for me
I’ve crawled before I’ll walk again
Encased in skin til god knows when
As a kid in confession, I’d mostly tell lies
I admitted made up sins, without compromise
The priest liked forgiving, so telling lies was wise
He went easy on penance, devil in disguise
Shame on us both playing such games
He wore a cloak, I’m still the same
I like the thought of evolution
That a fish could outsmart god
Show him something new and bold
Like a human is something odd
I guess that’s just how people are
We think we’re all so special
7 billion people, all unique
Well I hate to be your buzz kill
But anarchist are just conformist
With a little dash of black
And an individual is just another punk
Who says rap is dead and the 60’s are back
An emo kid’s just a prep
Who balks at social adaptation
And a gothic kid is just a meat head jock
With less hand-eye coordination
So you’ll all pick: Fad or Fad
And you’ll all be some kind of elitist
Remember however, no one is truly unique
…well…except for all us artists
"Petrichor "
Two minds
have made an entrance
magnetic bodies electric
minions babble
it’s just wasted white noise
sandpaper against back stories hit
The Wall of Wasted Time
He’s read most between the lines
He’s all hard hot and cool
unruffled piercing eagle eyes
forever on the hunt for willing prey
She’s incognito in disguise
seeking a challenge amongst
the spoilt and unsoiled
green-eyed fray
the two watch
in studied silence
like heat seeking missiles
they will find each other
poles apart
opposites
light and dark
fascinated
they are each other’s mark
the ozone is now charged
the crowd dissolves
invisible all their faces
unread their lips
unheard their madding mob words
whispered all graceless
passionless empty pages
time departs
the fuse is lit
Two minds’ eyes connect
both burning id reflect
the moment before they met
neurons travelling at lightning speed
through pulse to fingertips
reach out towards
each other’s mortal form
to touch the cerebral net
then later
find fingers reading skin
like braille and thirst
to drink from reigning lips
the moment before the
welcome storm hits hips
to taste the salt in
the cumulonimbus bursting
blue feral hollows
of their naked terraform
the Two minds
like absent gods
high and lost
in each other’s ocean
bent and tossed
live their story
tattooed at the place
where bodies leave clean sheets
and souls connect
electric bodies ignite
La Petite Mort
wave after wave
their drowning moans
ecstatically deplore
their final becalmed
silence approaching
the sweet mercy of
Petrichor
(LadyLabyrinth/2018)
https://youtu.be/5hFCZ1tzWR0
"Body Electric"/Del Ray
"I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul"
I Sing the Body Electric, Walt Whitman
(American Poet, May 31,1819 – March 26, 1892)
"The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account,
That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect."
I Sing the Body Electric, Walt Whitman
The Plea, Heal Me After All That I Have Been Through
You a heavenly body. So sweet
Your kisses would make this heart skip a beat,
Paying you adoration, shall be a great treat,
Since that summer, time and love have both flown
Your tender heart knows not how I have grown,
And my past ways now do truly disown,
Among winter's weeping and dying leaves
Lives a broken soul that so deeply grieves,
Its prayers begging from above, reprieves,
Now that days too oft resembles dark nights
Moon balks, refusing to alter its sights,
My darkness absolute, I cry for lights,
You a true goddess so wondrously made
To see again, anything I would trade,
Alas! Pray I your image will not fade,
Your exaltation, weeping spirit weaves
From dreams of touch that never deceives,
For greatest of hope, this mortal believes,
Good things come to he who faithfully waits
begging love's rewards, not tempting dark Fates,
to deny true love again before the Pearly Gates,
O' goddess, mercy please return to me
Without you I am as a dying tree,
A ship in a dark and deserted sea,
Look upon this wretched dishearten man
For truth in your love restore if you can,
Holding you once more, has been my plan,
These many decades heart has deeply bled
Holding memories of our nights instead,
Now abandoned I feel entombed and dead,
Return your love lost before I perish
For no other beauty do I cherish,
End my torment that is so nightmarish,
Let true romance gift us our love anew
In heaven's light, be we wedded as two,
Heal me after all that I have been through,
You a heavenly body. So sweet
Your kisses would make this heart skip a beat,
Paying you adoration, shall be a great treat,
R.J. Lindley, November 9- 1979
Tripled Rhymes,
( Words cast from a shattered soul and broken heart )
Note:
This dark into a torn apart heart eats
birthing ravages from deep epic defeats
as day and night hurl grief as falling pain
and I seek that no mortal can attain!
Ubi amor vere mortuis resurrectionem non esse?
Written: August 24, 2023
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In the realm where fallen souls reside,
Where darkness thrives and hope subsides,
There, among the shadows deep,
Dwarf, hopeful lights from the forest floor seep.
Amidst the trees that loom so tall and straight,
Split by such kindness, of light they partake,
And from nothing, one soul takes form.
She is life-standing, from the shadow she was born.
Her hair was dark, cascading as a waterfall.
Green eyes, such as the forest belt, thrall
A smile as genus as the moon grace,
She walks at a gentle pace.
In this realm where fallen souls reside,
She is the beacon and the guide.
With each step she brings to light,
Banished darkness, dispelling the night.
Her touch, a balm to wounded hearts,
Her words, akin to music, heal infarcts.
She sees the broken, the lost, the weary,
And with love, she brings them back, so cheery.
In this realm, fallen souls reside.
She is the hope they cannot hide.
With her tiny lights of love and care,
She brings warmth to despair.
Spangling the forest floor, she walks,
Shining a path where hope once balks
Through the tangled thicket, she weaves
Bringing solace to those who grieve
Her presence, a beacon in the night,
Guiding those who've lost their sight,
With each step, she illuminates
To redemption, the journey acuminates
In this realm where fallen souls reside,
She is the light they need to survive.
In the darkest corners, she finds the lost,
Whispering words of hope, no matter the cost,
Unjustly stymied, down by law,
The good citizen balks, throws his -
Monkey wrench into the grinding gears of society:
"They all be damned."
But freed, aided,
The good citizen (Way, will) makes straight that path,
Turns forward the Great, Lasting Wheel of Society,
For the benefit of all.
So the better bitter batter wants a better bitter bat
But the better bitter batter baker wants to break his cat
'Cause the badder batter baker bakes the better batter's bats
While the better batter's biggest brother balks at all of that.
So the bitter batter's brother bakes a bitter batter bite
with the better bats of butter and the baker's bitter kite
and the bitter better baker breaks the badder baker's bike
So the badder batter baker and the better baker fight.
So the bitter bakers battle, bitter batter now abounds
And the better bitter batter hears these bitter battle sounds
Now the better batter's bitter, no solution can be found.
So the bitter better batter bats both bakers to the ground.
< Destruction of beautiful mother earth
Will it spin off mantel like head to gawk
Or destroyed by mankind for what it's worth
Floods fires quakes acts from natures own birth
Litterbugs arsonists terrorists balks
Destruction of beautiful mother earth
Illuminate waters that someone hurts
Cleanliness is painted in Godly chalk
Or destroyed by mankind for what it's worth
Man woman and even thy smallest mirth
For thy Father in our Heaven will stalk
Destruction of beautiful mother earth
Eagle that soars a wolf howling from girth
Will thy it's freedom ring out thus like the hawk
Or destroyed by mankind for what it's worth
Like land before time when man walked
Wonder how forces existed and talked
Destruction of beautiful mother earth
Or destroyed by mankind for what it's worth
Slow, The Flow Of Time's Waning Hands
On nights that I can not slow walk
through dreams that may, my sad soul heal
With such interruption heart balks
at the sorrows I come to feel.
Waning midnight hours race on past
night shadows then appear to prowl
bed writhing, I pray it not last
useless, as nightmare monsters howl!
Slow, the flow of time's waning hands
their razor claws slashing in deep
Over and over, one last stand
as Hope promises blessed sleep.
In my sleep I try to fast talk.
From dead body outlined in chalk.
Robert J. Lindley, 3-16-2019
Sonnet, ( As the dark hours slowly march )
Her feet knows the path
Seeing amongst stones
Curled, the grass wet swathe
And stars dry as bones
Into night she walks
Head laden, heart spilled
Her prices for stalks
Less than she is billed
For mulch and tilling
And the clouds too dry
Cost her more spending
The land makes her sigh
But the cycle keeps
In the wind she talks
And murmur-less sleeps
The toad neath the balks
The fog unwinds day
A barren tree shed
Leaves where children play
The sun on their head.
Sometimes we say things and hope God would do the opposite
Sometimes we say things out of anger
Sometimes we lost it and completely lost our head
But can we push God away?
The answer is no
God is not someone you can dictate
Who would take your order and run when you tell Him to
He is an independent, supreme God
He issues orders and not taking one
He chelates and not renegades
He balks and not chocks
He runs with you and not against you
He withholds for your own good and not ballons you to your own merrification
He believes and not relieves
He commits and not bequeaths
So let it be known
He is not someone you can play with
defeat, or degrade
He is a God of His own
You cannot belittle Him and not suffer consequences
He deserves utmost adoration
If you can't say anything nice, don't say it at all
Or you will have wraths on your head
And what are you gonna do?
So let it be known, respect and perplexed
That's what He wants you to do
Don't cause a scene, would ya?
On All Hallows Eve, darkness balks
The fields are full of crisp cornstalks.
The boyo's have egged the paper birch
and left their lassies alone at church.
A red moon lights a flight of hawks,
a murder of crows, tree high squawks.
Apples are left for ghosts who walk
and the Banshee risen from her perch
On All Hallow's eve.
So wrap your neck in a cross gold
beware the Pooka, he's foretold,
carry a Jack-o-lantern..lit
and holy water in your kit
bring a pretty lass to console
On All Hallow's Eve.
*Banshee a female spirit in Irish Lore who warns of impending death
**Pooka a shape changing goblin who oft appears as aheadless horse.
Rudolph's nose shines frosty bright,
Relations will be cool this night
He raps a hoof on Santa's door
And says we feel we should earn more
If we're to work on Christmas day
We must insist on double pay
And if we do not get our way
We'll just refuse to pull your sleigh
Santa sneers, I do not like
Your attitude, so take a hike
For if the reindeer go on strike
I'll just go out and buy a bike
Rudolph hisses, listen Guv
A bike to fly the sky above
With all your weight you'll need a shove
But don't call on the reindeer, Bruv.
If I must I'll hire a van
Just remember, I'm the man
Who makes the rules, because I can
You pull sleighs... That's the plan.
Rudolph gasps, in fact he balks
Santa thinks he flys with hawks
Hark at him and how he talks
Without us reindeer, Santa walks
You cannot strike, it's not allowed
You've got your head stuck in a cloud
But don't get used to standing proud
You'll soon be back, your heads all bowed
We're underpaid, don't stand and preach
We fly all night, one carrot each
If no agreement we can reach
You find us lounging on the beach
But Santa says, you're meant to vote
To tick a box and post the note
So no one knows just what you wrote
So who says you can rock the boat
Don't stand and quote the union rules
You take us for a bunch of fools
And treat us like a herd of mules
Tonight my friend, we're downing tools
Then Santa sighs, Just stop your squawking
Without you lads, I won't reach Dorking
Would two carrots each stop you walking
Ah, says Rudolph, Now you're talking
You frowned at that fraudster called age,
The fiend that lets no one sleep light,
In book of life age is a page.
A child lets life a free passage,
Flying off in a fancy flight,
And this creature’s caught in a cage.
Grown up when knows, hedges on hedge,
Balks at calling this boaster’s blight,
Life’s a long book, age passing page.
Pushing up life’s hackney carriage,
Reaping fruits, in fair-weather flight,
He copes with that impostor’s rage.
When old enough, bit of a sage,
In vain trying life’s wrongs to right,
He prepares to pen life’s last page.
But you lived in heaven’s image,
Fought your best to give age good fight,
And frowned on that fraudster’s false rage,
Proved, life’s a book, age but a page.
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Inspired by my father who led an exemplary life and died at the ripe and rewarding age of 102
______________________________________________________
Villanelle | 01.10.08 |
Them~
He walks~
He balks~
He hawks~
He squawks~
He caulks~
He stalks~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
She nags~
She wags~
She gags~
She shags~
She rags~
She sags~
Them ~