Best Bequeathing Poems
I think of those I knew who’ve passed
And what they’ve left behind,
Impressions that remain engraved
In caverns of my mind.
Perhaps just an expression
Or some laughter we once shared
Or a reaching-out connection
Where our truest selves were bared.
I conjure up some habits
That endeared or else annoyed
Which, for reasons I don’t know,
Have yet to vanish in the void.
We write our wills, bequeathing
What we treasure to our kin,
But the best of us we leave behind
Is what resides within.
l.
Opening the closet of narra doors, I sweep through
organza skirts and gemmed ringlets; my hair
ruffling aimlessly upon scalloped kerchiefs
smelling decade - old hyacinth, Mom’s favorite
ambrosia: she would lift her anklets
in tiptoed hums, ”night and day, you are the one..”
Evenings touched her candle hands; hands
that soothed wounded knees from jackstone fights;
her fingers caressing a pony -tailed girl’s wrath
with piano keys rippling into a gentle moan;
And i am delivered from my tempestuous rants.
ll.
From nowhere, the porcelain mirror gazed at me;
her rhythm of silence billows, cradling my nights
with each veil of her almond eyes
that enter into my irises: a serene sight
too close, much too tight I clung to her unspoken word.
Through years, I grew like a bamboo shoot: her quiet smiles
and music walked me through reality’s maze.
And how I would wail bearing the grim of hard study,
coughing late, late hours of reading toil…yet,
she stayed like a moth with charm flushed
in a wind of calm gaze, ebbing .
lll.
And only Mom could melt my temper
when my raging soul paused to wonder
at her light’s glow: oh, her feminine beat illumined
more lamplights dancing inside this rebellious head…
and now, she hovers around me.
I become her eyes, chanting;
never balking at my surreal conquests.
She is gone bequeathing warmth into my torched flights
without question; with much love dripping
from her graceful movement, straying all through
these my breaths: “night and day, you are the one…”
Our Midnight The Unseen Within
( Collaboration )
Silent unto our sense, yet musical
With eternal harmony, they move
About our darkened vision, the beautiful ones,
Angels of destiny.
Pale with the dawn, sun-golden with the noontide,
They mingle with our moments;
There is no sadness that they do not share,
No night they are not near.
Even as flowers that scent the roving winds
With fragrant incantations, - flowers unseen,
That loose the largess of their beauteous dreams,
Even so are they.
Bequeathing endlessly for our delight
The gifts we spurn, the secret revelations
Would make us in our needless misery
True kindred of the Soul,-
A holy kiss to marry us with light,
These sheens where cherubins loose their waxxen wings;
Shear the shadows where fear is oft found,
And quell doubt like a startled imposter
A righteous device to lead us home.....
A wanton wind to soothe the wayward ails;
A flame-cold but bright to illume every wan,
We sleep unbeguiled, where angels tread
What secret shadows skulk to maim?
Strip our bones to sudden death?
Move they winnowed and tarried -----
Helpless to the winged, swift eye
A keepsake (say many) beat of feather;
Hope gives us peace in those hallowed hills,
Where the angels sing like larks and cry a tear of love:
(Our midnight)
Robert J. Lindley and Keith O.J. Hunt,
2-21-2016
Note:
First 16 verses written by Robert Lindley
Remaining 16 verses 16 written by Keith O.J. Hunt
What now of heroes can I speak
Who raise the mild and loft the meek
Bequeathing glory, love untold
With ne’re a thought their heart unfolds
A spirit bright so kind are they
Their own life’s pain they hide away
Their selfless gifts cast near and far
They’ll hand you moons and cast you stars
In what choice god you do believe
He’s planted in them kindness seeds
With selfless stealth they will achieve
To garnish souls with ruby beads
Intentions oft misunderstood
They only know how to do good
Altruistic warrior hearts
Empathy is their unique art
Incognito these ones remain
Actions speaking louder than fame
Gifted with words to comfort pain
Casting rainbows, banishing rain
Unsung heroes they will remain
Singing their songs without refrain
Broken angels with hidden wings
Healing souls whilst weaving heart strings.
November 26, 2017
Written for “Hero” Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
In the firmament of trees
October's eye
looks down in cruel azure
on summer's absinthe leaves,
flocking like survivors
to a mortal haven.
Autumn's blood magma
creeps through leaves
bequeathing fire
and brittle amber.
Fertile frost breeds
in arctic prisms,
whispering feral eddas
as withering violets
echo bitter truth.
Unassailable purity, a cognition divine of venerated mind,
Proffers promise inviolable, beneficence sacred aligned,
With force invincible emanating from goodwill of heart
Forming precepts impeccable, teachings benevolent impart.
Purity of thought and action~ a worthy and righteous goal,
Resounds indomitable from kindred voice of resolute soul;
A heavenly call of compassion, extolling sanctity of love,
Lifting tenor of gloomy dawns~ soothing refrains of dove.
Unassailable purity in life, a road map of directions to hope,
Sacrosanct are its valiant acts, vowing ceaselessly to cope,
Performing with mighty resolve, deeds inducing pride;
Serving humbly as invisible hand of irreproachable guide.
Assisting destitute is the sermon, tolling bells of prayer,
Beckoning the weary, indigent, to shelter and welfare;
Comforting grief of despair with words enlightened, aware,
Consoling cry of nothingness, bequeathing love and care.
It exemplifies within her selfless smile, purity of her eyes,
Reassuring her children, bliss of mother’s love never dies;
Its rectitude unassailable, eternal as the reign of time,
A gift precious, paramount to life~ ethereal and sublime.
Of seven things you said while on the cross
Dear Lord, the one that pierces so my heart
Is what you said to Mary, suffering loss
Your agony was tearing her apart
You looked at her in tears there at your feet
Her heart now torn by sword of prophecy
And in your mind you heard her voice so sweet
Her lullabies of love, your constancy
You looked at her a widow sore distressed
Her only hope impaled, about to die
And there stood John who held her close, oppressed
Before you said a word, they heard you sigh
Though in the balance hung man’s destiny
Your heart about to break from weight of sin
Assured she’d share with you eternity
With labored breath you gave her next of kin
“Behold, your son,” you spoke with loving care
Bequeathing John your mother, fainting there
Jade Celeste
To think that through the excruciating pain that He bore, Jesus was still worried about his mother's welfare! How can people not love someone so full of compassion for those around him? What could He have done that He left undone to show us the depth of His love?
The Bible records seven things that Jesus said while on the cross:
"I Thirst"
"Father, forgive them for they know not what they do."
"Verily I say to you today, you will be with me in paradise."
"Woman, behold thy son."
"Father, why have you forsaken me?"
"Into your hands, I commit my spirit."
"It is finished!"
Glorious words! "It is finished"...the plan of salvation is secured. The ransom has been paid by His substitutionary death. We can be forgiven!
Happy Easter to all....He died...but He rose from the dead, and to all who believe in His name, He will grant eternal life!!! "He who has the SON, has LIFE." I John 5: 12...
On this soft autumn evening all is still
The moon drifts over clouds that gently flow
Bequeathing through us humbleness and thrill.
To fade in its mild hour of afterglow.
And somehow I have thought about our dream
Where skies can look into my heart and feel;
This vow of love will never die, but gleam
Until life ends, embracing time’s ordeal.
Forever then we'll walk the endless strands
That tugs along this sail , my river’s quest,
Where seagulls wheel above the pearly sands
Beyond the twirling curves far to the west.
Yes, love is ever faithful, always pure
Till heaven greets me in my last detour.
English Sonnet Contest of Janice Canerdy
11/3/2016
death can never cease to exist
what lives in my every moment
the softness within her eyes
a light brush of a hand
taking my breath away
lips as doves landing
upon mine
a smile bequeathing me purest of joy
become eyes shuttered in ecstasy
death cannot take away
what heaven will return to me
for an eternity
it becomes awaiting the dream
a day closer to you
death will never perish
my reason for living
ask Mrs. Muir who waits on the balcony
if matter never perishes
what more can i add to the gift
that lives forever within love
or in my every heartbeat
OKC 2/18/22
How does my body
This flesh that withholds my soul,,
manage to bear the weight from the chains that have been embedded upon my bequeathing heart?
Where does one hide the pain that is encrusted upon these eyes that are dreary and now fail to sleep?
Why cant my mind acquit, my heart adrift, my skin ache for the touch of another?
Does it have to be me that has to live with this night, because happiness is the other side of this mirror?
h
By duskfall, I cruise with the sky,
throwing life’s pebbles unto ripples
of yearning… and she lifts her veil against
the moist air fondling the blue of night
unto my pale meadow…she whispers
before an interlude, refreshing my senses;
a warm potion to my languid thoughts
and pierced refrains, delicately whisking
shadows and cluttered notes: her luster
bequeathing new facets of hue
and a gleam for sweet beginnings
reaching for my wet skin with a melody
like a passage from tear's soundtracks,
then to grasp my wish on her halo.
Laying on columns of grass, I rise
to feel the sky cruising with me in the meadow.
Craig Cornish's Debussy Contest
6/10/2014
.
Silent unto our sense, yet musical
With eternal harmony, they move
About our darkened vision, the beautiful ones,
Angels of destiny.
Pale with the dawn, sun-golden with the noontide,
They mingle with our moments;
There is no sadness that they do not share,
No night they are not near.
Even as flowers that scent the roving winds
With fragrant incantations, - flowers unseen,
That loose the largess of their beauteous dreams,
Even so are they.
Bequeathing endlessly for our delight
The gifts we spurn, the secret revelations
Would make us in our needless misery
True kindred of the Soul,-
A holy kiss to marry us with light,
These sheens where cherubins loose their waxxen wings;
Shear the shadows where fear is oft found,
And quell doubt like a startled imposter
A righteous device to lead us home.....
A wanton wind to soothe the wayward ails;
A flame-cold but bright to illume every wan,
We sleep unbeguiled, where angels tread
What secret shadows skulk to maim?
Strip our bones to sudden death?
Move they winnowed and tarried -----
Helpless to the winged, swift eye
A keepsake (say many) beat of feather;
Hope gives us peace in those hallowed hills,
Where the angels sing like larks and cry a tear of love:
(Our midnight)
First 16 lines written by Robert Lindley
Last 16 by Keith O.J. Hunt
Those who do not die are known to live beyond the veil
disheveled in the light like a Polaris star
that lusters in the sky with gaseous shine;
Although some stars are known to die very fast and very young,
there are others that remain as constant as the Northern star;
My dream is to arrive one day inside my Father's House
a methuselah star of old light years away from birth;
Oh how I wish to be the signage of His requiem,
the agent of His blaze, the one that makes things visible.
A gleaming star bequeathing light to all who perish in the night
For those of them who live beyond the veil and never die
like the Archangels "12", I do in askance ask,
how long must I live in this heathen town, without His Godly gown.
November 7, 2020
Sponsor: Silent One
Contest Name: There Is A Star With My Name On It
*Methuselah star : Researchers say it can be as old as 14.5 billion years,
but that would make it older than the calculated age of the universe? ...
Stone did not give up on us,
we just made stone socially conscious.
Many hotels and banks are still stone clad,
the rich still use stone,
but most of us
are in the throw-away aisles of the future.
This is not a class warfare poem, that war is over –
we lost.
Soon the poor will have no stone history,
our less than epoch making lives
will not outlast the crumbling era’s.
Our trinkets and practical artifacts
will wash away in tsunamis of time.
We will leave no blue-collar archeology
that can be excavated, and raised above the
swallowing earth once more.
Plastic and aluminum,
composite drywalls, and pine struts, go
to the landfill at best.
In the end, rot, termites
and fire are our bequeathing.
In some distant past
I am looking through a camera
taking pictures of a far tomorrow.
“Look”, I hear someone say,
“there’s a nobody,
he who has no stone for his grave
or fame.”
I agree,
even this celluloid photo of me
in my prime,
strutting along a Jersey boardwalk,
a beautiful woman on my arm;
this image will also burst into flames;
no doubt within,
some impressive, abiding fireplace -
one built of stone.
Awesome Gems, As Were Set By Divine Measure
The Sun, a shimmering sky fired lake
Oft penetrating the soul, body and heart
No worries, shining glow it never fakes
Radiant beauty it freely imparts!
Who has never sang praises for its gifts
Those stirring dawns, its beauty basking in
Flow, oft as fine as a great guitar rift
Bequeathing, that which we beg for again!
The Sky, O' the grace of its flowing blue
Oft so deeply -setting hearts aflutter
In youth, we reached for it as we grew
Tho' from its raging storms we oft shutter
Awesome when we see heavenly night views
And dare to ponder in our wealth of dreams
Oft we'd fly up to live if we could choose
Float away in its bright galactic streams!
The Sun, the Sky, our earth's beautiful dome
Indeed, both a most sweet blessed treasure
Nature's allies - its bounty in this our home
Awesome gems, as were set by divine measure!
Robert J. Lindley, 6-22-2021
Rhyme,
( Dreams And Word Painting The Beauty That Came Forth )
Note:
This creation, inspired by a most blessed
and beautiful dream last night. A poet must
consider such golden treasure as is gifted
and rise to the occasion to preserve it in
poetic verses, to give back unto the world.
Even when ones muse says, "you are not up
to the task my friend"! One quite simply
must then so dare!