Best Blade Poems
Rather I, Sharpen Blade, Saddle My Battle Horse,
(Dawn, First Battle, Part One)
Dare I, reduce poet's pen to a plastic sword
flee from shadows that invades as destructive hordes?
Nay, such would incinerate reborn poetic soul,
bring heartache and destroy path to truth's gallant goal.
Rather I, sharpen blade, saddle my battle horse
walk through searing flames alone yet on steady course.
Expect more vicious attacks around each bend,
live out my final moment with defiant grin.
Should I, with courageous pen far more truth post
ink midnight hours, not fear darkest of evil ghost?
Beg more paper, its white pages let my ink soak,
in my defiance, strike those wearing evil's cloak?
Can I, with good conscience, this hard journey trek.
Knowing Raven's curse, both my eyes- out IT shall peck.
Robert J. Lindley, 10-18-2019
Sonnet, ( If Valiant, Let Ink Splash To This Dark Beast Slay )
(Dawn, First Battle, Part One)
Note:
Fuscus, qui mortalium haec faciam tibi mali iura
Et invenies in me plus perdomandosque feroces et fortes periculum pertinet.
I’ve read a lot about the stars—
sought precious knowledge of deep space.
Wondered when we’ll go to Mars—
pondered if we’ll leave this place.
Some problems here on earth, it seems;
though much here that I treasure.
But is it still a field of dreams,
or merely life in search of pleasure?
Nothing here we really own.
In error the thought we can possess.
We’ve mastered the installment loan;
now we are addicts of excess.
Has it always been this way?
Searching daily for advantage?
Hunting for the easy prey?
Putting them at disadvantage?
Consider then the nascent earth,
rolling forth in its perfection.
Safe for us from date of birth;
lives within our world’s protection.
Shouldn’t we give something back;
become ardent stewards of all life?
Summon strength that others lack;
depart from paths that beckon strife?
In doubt that you might shepherd change
and render chaos into sanity?
Offer truth in fair exchange
as worthy bargain for humanity?
This would be a daunting task—
challenge to the noblest mind—
yet some are unafraid to ask
what they might do for humankind.
Let thus emerge a sacred mien,
that one with purpose can surpass.
For lawns could never be so green
without each single blade of grass.
im gonna paint a picture,
a picture with a twist.
im gonna paint a picture,
i'll paint it on my wrist.
and if i paint this picture right,
a fountain will appear.
and then one day,
all my troubles will disapear.
Beauty in Imperfection - A collaboration with Iris Blade
I got too close to the masterpiece
And realized it was cracked
Blemishes and scars
Memories and sorrow
I stared as the brushstrokes reflected
fault lines in reverse images
slicing and carving,
desires and dreams
And I silently waited
For the broken frame
For the cracked canvas
To whisper their story
To give the answers to my questions
Because I no longer knew
What was beautiful
And what was not.
Yet still I gaze intently,
mesmerized by the vision I find
Could it be that life is hidden within
this portrait that seems so oddly familiar
Where an easel supports
Not only a work of unexplained reason,
But a deeper meaning
In all that I see
Beauty behind brushstrokes
Not perfection but
Affection
Love behind scarred lines in blue
And this one painting
Has shown me what I know
And what I want to
Beauty resides in imperfection.
The mighty steed was black as night.. (Cobolt was his name)
His rider, Blade, a Warrior Knight
Swiftly through the dark forest he rode
A realm he ruled with an iron code
He was in search of his magical blue amulet
Stolen he believed by a raven.. his enemy's evil pet
Blade was aided in his search by his gray owl
Who flew night and day as for the raven he prowled
His enemy, Prince Zoxi, waited at the forest edge
To kill Blade he had made a solemn pledge
As Blade neared the end of the forest
He drew his sword , which glowed with a fiery zest
The two warriors met at the break of dawn
A fight to the death now began
The battle raged through the early morn
The swords echoed with each clang
Deftly,.. Blade sidestepped a thrust.. and his fiery sword found its mark
Prince Zoxi fell to the ground
The Warrior Knight of the forest dark
had inflicted the fatal wound
He ripped his amulet from Zoxi's neck
And on his mighty steed he made his trek
To his dark forest haven
And his gray owl overhead, and in his talons, the evil raven
The caw of the raven was heard no more
And over the dark forest the gray owl soars
A new enemy from the west, Bomani,.. The mountain warrior, drew near
He shudders when the thunder of the mighty steed he hears
And riding boldly to meet him as with speed his mighty steed explodes
Is.. BLADE.. The Warrior Knight of dark abode
Friend, you may view me as piteous
for my form is quite hideous
Bloodstained hands I cannot clean
even though I'm fastidious
I accidently killed the queen
This deed beyond my conception
I promised my queen protection
My sword I swung it in the dark
towards a ghostly reflection
It struck my Queen leaving its mark
There she lay upon the threshold
Although young I then felt so old
Dismal in spirit for I loved her true
I beg you to be swift and bold
Take my life with a blade of blue
Pull Your Blade From My Bleeding Back
Pull your blade from my bleeding back
the cut can thus bleed all the more
Your deceit so deep I've lost all track
your love is, crap water on a dirty shore!
Stand back and watch me hurt and bleed
can you destroy my lost life any deeper
Such sickness feeds your twisted need
I the fool, thought you great and a keeper!
Pull your blade from my bleeding back
the cut can thus bleed all the more
Your deceit so deep I've lost all track
your love is, crap water on a dirty shore!
Recover I shall, from your vicious deeds
hope now invades my sick, bleeding heart
Someday you'll cry and send me lying pleads
such will be your lies so dead from the start!
Pull your blade from my bleeding back
the cut can thus bleed all the more
Your deceit so deep I've lost all track
your love is, crap water on a dirty shore!
Life returned my mind to think this out
pain gone, sanity gives to me this thought
Expose your evil with a just and high shout
on the hatred your selfishness dearly bought!
Pull your blade from my bleeding back
the cut can not bleed at all any more
I survived to live and love to now track
sweet justice now invading your sad shore!
R.J. Lindley
Oct. 20,1976
Blade of Hate
Rip out my bruised and battered heart
fire that shot, you must start.
The cuts have soaked the floor so red
hell no, not yet am I, the fool dead!
Slide back into this bloody little room
give some more pain and slashing gloom.
You laugh so gleefully at my great pain
as if your heart isn't a stinking stain.
Spit out that blackened heart you chew
this world weeps at the evil you do.
Shove in more deep, slicing razor blades
stab into more late midnight raids.
Now you can walk on the blood that has dried
spin your lies and pretend this soul has died.
Stand in false pride at the gory little scene
eat out my heart , liver and my busted spleen!
Stab me with a blade of hate burned in so deep.
Finish me as now weak and dying, I go to sleep!
10-21-1973. robertjlindley
This is from long, long ago. Back when anger and passion
flowed like a river from me! My first wife tore my soul out
and stomped on it. Even in pure anger I loved her still.
I sent a copy of this to her her . She sent back a note ,
saying F.U.
This is from my journal that I have to date never shared
a single poem from.
Why not I asked myself. Life holds no truly great memories
if they are about such great pain...Pain that destroyed
a true love and glorified her use of drugs and torture..
I knew a girl who lost all she had
Leaving her lonely, lost, and terribly sad
Having no one to talk to and no one to call
She fell in love with the blade releasing it all
She found peace in the pain that came with each cut
Behind her bedroom door, always securly locked and shut
The sight of the blood left her satisfied time after time
But she found that just one wasn't enough to clear her mind
She cut more and more each time hiding the scars
For fear of a padded room, surrounded by bars
So finally she thought why not end it all
Sitting in her room she planned her last letters and calls
She wrote of her sorrows and how she couldn't let go
And how sorry tonight she was giving her soul
Then she ran the bath water and locked all the doors
Knowing that she wouldn't see tommorrow or feel the pain anymore
Then she climbed into the tub and grabbed that faithful blade
That she'd grown to love and find refuge in each day
As she cut down the middle of each wrist on each arm
Not thinking that this would cause anyone else any hurt or alarm
As she began to bleed she became weary and weak
Fearing that maybe this shouldn't have been her release
But it was to late to turn back the damage was done
For her love with the blade had left ehr to far gone
As she began to slip she began to weep
Wishing to finally sleep into an eternal sleep
As she finally slipped away the blade fell to her side
Leaving a cold reality that the love of her blade left ehr to die
So now as I sit I think back to her
And her beautiful life now jsut a blur
That blade that she'd loved had pushed her so hard
That her ivory arms weren't all that were scarred
Your laughter haunts my lonely nights,
Memories echo in empty halls,
Each whisper stabs my aching heart,
Once we soared, now shadows fall,
A friendship lost, a love undone,
In silence, tears become my song.
A dagger’s kiss is cold and clean, But betrayal carves where none have seen.
It does not bleed, it does not scream, Yet haunts the soul in every dream.
A wound that festers, black and deep, A secret ache the heart must keep.
The hands once warm now twist the knife, A silent end to faith and life.
The tongue that swore in silver tones, Now drips with venom, sharp as bones.
A promise shattered, glass in veins, A love undone by whispered chains.
The eyes that swore they’d never stray, Now watch as hope is stripped away.
A wound unseen, yet felt so raw, A phantom claw that grips the jaw.
For daggers rust and wounds may close, But betrayal lingers—no one knows.
It wears no face, it speaks no name, Yet burns the soul in silent flame.
Night draws out like a long, sharp blade.
Keen edged, it carves its image upon a
black-ink sky. As iron sharpens iron, the
knife hurls glowing planets and stars
upon the deep.
A soft-faced moon of soapstone,
is the sharpening tool upon which the
knife's edge beckons light into the darkness.
Its opaque face is the focal point of all the
twinkling entities illuminating a quilted darkness.
Each night's sharp-honed edge is a memory
to hold in the mind's eye. The spark thrown
stars and stone-faced, silent moon remind us
of the unrelenting friction our earth must feel
hurtling resolutely through an endless void.
Night, like a long blade draws out from dusk
until the dawn again cracks with morning light.
Night Like a Blade
3-17-15
In and out, the body seem to fade
one more push on the mind is a crime
to good and long life, it is a huge blade
as for the need to rest, oh dear, no time
too much fire won’t make gold from jade
no item can save the wave, not a dime
can pile to take it up a high grade
then make life less, just when in its prime
a live wire on life to prohibit
to run in free flow, it will inhibit
not wise to let this heat exhibit
end to end to make good use of the day
when it is time, let the body lay
so that a mind at rest can have a say
The time of death is now
The blade of life takes it bow
With thee I behead
Blood running red
No one questions why and how
Looking at the guillotine
One mans nightmare the other mans dream
Cousin to the knife
It takes away your life
Fast and sharp its cut is clean
Waiting in dungeon halls
Silent screams penetrate walls
No time to waste
For breath’s last taste
As men shiver before the blade falls
Laying corpses mounting high
Executed not knowing why
Men will kill
Against their will
The bell has rung it is time to die.
Feb.21.2016 ^WW^
A poem should be a candle
that brings human feelings to light;
moving like a stubbled shadow
across the face of tomorrow.
And its rhythm should be inviting,
soliciting raw emotions
from within the depths of your soul;
where both Angels and Demons dwell.
Its language should be conversant,
conveying the writer's message
in a relatable fashion;
emotional and personal.
And it should be free of the lies
that ignorance perpetuates;
freeing feelings with wizened words
that cut deeper than any blade.