Best Chattered Poems
A Trek Into A Forest Wonderfully Deep,
(New Dawn- Second Battle, Part Two)
This vista, newfound view image of divine scene
fertile virgin ground, pretty as a peacock's preen
born of inked splashes, and poet's bleeding blood
flow from deep gashes, paints virgin soil as red-mud.
Nature's true beauty sent to poet's beating heart
illuminated glory at dawn's gifted start
gurgling brook, waters racing into crystal clear lake
sad weeping soul inhales, as much as one can take.
Morning trek, my how such a change the mind renews
once a train wreck, now healing beneath sky blue
All aghast, miracle that comes as divine gift
life changing wonders sent so fast, sent to uplift.
This vista, newfound view image of divine scene.
Fertile virgin ground, pretty as a peacock's preen.
Robert J. Lindley, 10-19-2019
Sonnet, ( The Second Battle-- Part Two)
Note: I rose from bed early. By 6 am I was 8 miles away,
walking into the deep woods. Therapy for a soul that was
in deep blues, seeking an answer to how to fight this dark
and its beasts that it so uses. Mother Nature spoke, saying-
to poet soldier, this such savages can never truly see. Watch
as I gift you such deeper sight. As I saw images that I never
had seen before. I realized, my deep blues were trivial and
a temporary lapse on my part. As once I knew we mortals
too oft fall pray to the destructive voices of the minions of
darkness and its infinitely wicked rage. Arriving home,
mere minutes later sipping hot coffee on my front porch.
Nature spoke from my front yard as a squirrel climbed down
from an oak tree fifteen feet away-- looked at me and chattered
away for about three minutes! Then I understood, too oft we
forget to fight! Coffee drank, into my den , my sword ,sharpened
anew. This the second battle commenced and ink splashed to defeat
an enemy that never ever sleeps, and never ever gives any mercy
to its foes... And so the cycle continues.......
A forest - sunlight squeezing through the arms
uplifted by its countless ancient trees.
So fortress-like; her inner royal charms
even the time-worn traveler seldom sees.
What culture lies within? What foreign tongue
is chattered nervously by bird and beast?
What joyful hymns of revelry are sung
which, by my drawing near, in fear are ceased?
My love, those hidden parts I find unique
are those which I would most desire to know.
Dark corners which I least wish you to seek -
the very ones you need the light to show.
Though brighter are the colors from outside,
let's pledge to let no hues within us hide.
There was a baboon in my bed,
I thought it appeared to be dead,
So I turned out the light,
But it chattered all night
And swung off the curtains instead.
For PD’s Silly poem contest
Precious Tender Moment
Such a precious tender moment
and the comfort that you crave.
As I watched you kneeling there
pulling weeds beside her grave.
So long she was a part of you,
so long you were together.
I know that here without her
must feel just like forever.
Somewhere in my mind it seems
I had this moment planned.
You might say I came prepared
this camera in my hand.
Now forever I'll see the picture.
The one I never took.
Of a precious tender moment
no matter where I look.
Birds all chattered in the trees,
the sun shined in the skies.
Still it rained inside my heart
as tears fell from your eyes.
I hope you know you're not alone
in your missing her so badly.
Mother's gone for two years now
and I love you so much daddy.
Forever in our hearts and minds
is where she will always be.
And this precious tender moment
alone here, you and me.
Edwin C Hofert
Inspired by the true story of a friend of a friend. Who upon taking her father to visit his departed wife's grave site. She planned to take a picture. Only to find she could not bring herself to do it. As she watched still two years later still grieving her passing. God bless them both.
I don't, and probably won't
know the truth of her fate,
I don't know whether she left us,
but I do remember her well.
Tall, slim, quiet and shy,
I remember her deep orange hair,
and an awkward prettiness that grew.
But more than the sight of her,
and the lack of sound of her,
I remember a peculiarity.
She was there every day,
and then she was not there
almost every day.
Many I've seen since
and suddenly not seen since.
Each had their own story,
stories that I'll never know.
I don't, and probably won't
know the truth of their fate.
We chattered with amusement,
callous or unknowing,
when she appeared for a day at a time.
A day at a time,
two, maybe three times a year
for a year-and-half or two.
Later I heard a whisper,
dread disease, it said,
and it all made nasty sense.
Moments past midnight I awoke
to the horrible understanding
that perhaps she wanted only
to feel normal for a day.
11th August 2018
Forgotten field of forever - I knew you once . . .
in daffodil days when I wandered in wisteria ways.
Sprightly I skipped and rarely tripped.
Hope really did spring eternal then
in the spring of my strawberry youth.
Dahlia daydreams drifted often like dandelion fluff
through the corridors of my mind - a mind not yet tainted by
taxing times inevitably to come as faster and faster
I would speed along my path of life.
Like a gamboling lamb, fresh, frisky and free-spirited,
I faced my own little fun and frivolous world.
Hardly was I heedful of the woes of those
forced to fight in foreign fields across the ocean,
in a nation where peace was hardly known.
In killing fields the most innocent of citizens
were pawns of a futile war. Such things did not enter
my pre-teen mind. I was but a child.
Sachet sweet were my springs
and sassy sassafras my summers.
In back-to-school autumnal afternoons
I fled home to fields of happy play,
never with a thought given to the heartache of mothers
whose soldier sons were lost to bullets or bombs.
I sleepwalked cluelessly through a decade of war
far removed from me as I played games of pretend
with equally clueless friends.
Blissfully we skipped our ropes and chattered merrily
like monkeys in the school yard.
So innocent was I then that barely can I bring back
those sun-filled daffodil days to my recollection.
In too short time, my grand little dreams of long ago
wafted upward to a cumulus of forgetfulness.
No more do I lay myself down in grass
to look up at diamond-studded skies
or drift into slumber with visions of the visages
of my juvenile crushes while cheesy 60’s love songs
linger softly on my radio. Those faraway times are
as forgotten as the lives that vanished in Nam.
They can only belong to the forgotten field of forever.
On a beautiful afternoon, crisp and sunny, I set out on a trek to the nearby woods. Except my camera, intentionally picked up, I hadn’t carried with me any other goods. All along, I saw wild flowers and strange herbs and paused to take pictures, but kept moving. No doubt, it was a rewarding experience. The lure of the unknown seemed bewitching. From the cluster of flowers on a sprawling tree, the wind wafted a rare exotic smell which I inhaled to my heart’s content. All along, I heard the twitter of chirping sparrows and some other birds and could spot large squirrels with striped designs and bushy tails. Proceeding further, heard a gurgling sound. It must be a small cataract, I did suppose. My guess was right. It fell off a rock and ran into a stream with murmur enough to lull one to sweet repose. The whistle of a quail fell in my ears and the rhythm of the tapping of a wood pecker and the creaking of dry leaves under my feet…all familiar sounds to any forest trekker! Feeling happy over my progress without a hitch, listening to the soft cajoling of birds and the confused drone of honey bees, I walked playfully stamping on the weeds.
woodland paths unwind
bringing multi scenes in row~
joy to heart and soul
By the time I reached half my way, the forest fell into darkness much
earlier to sunset. It shattered my peace and blotted out my sight, that I started running wild feeling violently upset. I knew I had strayed off the accustomed path, saw the dark sky above and heard a foreboding owl’s hoot. My path was severely obstructed by a tangle of creepers. I felt so puzzled that I could hear the loud thump of my heart. Under a thicket, covered with brambles, I saw a sudden movement as that of a beast and was afraid to look over my shoulders. My teeth chattered and my knees smote. I swooned unable to think or act, hear or see. For how long I lay there in a trance, not sure. When I woke, I saw myself lying at the foot of a tree. To my great relief, I saw the sun beams filtering down and an orange tint streaming across the foggy sky. I couldn’t say if I saw heaven or hell. Better to say, I experienced both.
unexpected turns,
life takes, landing us in angst~
yet, add to our strength
Even now I sit, slump, shuddering,
Remembering...
Stale walls echoing lamenting calls,
their house...
A nightmare flickered in the red herring of betrayal.
Stumbling hormones, skinless evil.
it breathed...
Blood red lips snarling, capturing someone else essence, bone dry.
A nightmare...
Deliberately slithering up my calf, I grasped a cube of insanity as a last hope.
The shock...
Dead eyes feared a toy box, a fragmented sense
clung to my only protection, my untouched hell.
Blood soaked, dripping sweat, saturated fear I escaped...
I awoke...
Demons hell-bent on demise. Curiosity craved,
crushed my soul into submission,
But it's just a box...
Teeth exposed, chattered, blindly shoved fingers in to catch my tongue,
the taste of soured flesh.
Wait...
A vibrating voice crackled static pain, shivered in pleasure.
He escaped...
Bargaining, a blissful retreat, whilst exposing incompetence, irrational?
Go to hell.
Run...
Pounded at death's door, let me in...
Dad...
Warned the worm of the vulture, coming to devour its soul.
Something didn't fit, the sacrifice seeping into the floor smelt half human.
A twang...
Realisation, cold, the door creaked, locked,
grinning gruesomely, the veins pulsing along a sadistic mind,
Quaking, i flinched around to a lubricated nightmare,
clenching my muscles, the hiss of hell's rapture...
A prison shook, a prisoner shrieked,
Sanity split like perfect fission, slime coated his
perverted call...
Come, to daddy.
Tribute to The Story of An Hour by Kate Chopin
A subtle blank stare filled her eyes
As she , Margery Bollard ,locked them with whom she took her vows
A photograph of him against the floral wallpaper
Haunted her soul
She fainted and collapsed onto her living room floor
Within half an hour
She drank a glass of water and mingled it with tears
Cold and heavy tears
Aged her by fifty years
She climbed up the stairs to her master bedroom with which she shared with her husband, Daniel Bollard
Their boat sailed to lover’s lane
A speck of light drew her eyes towards the small squared window
She pulled her large arm chair by the window and
Sank in its warmth
Now
Under her breath, a sharp whisper fled her clenched lips
Filled her heart with horrid rage
A widow out of place
Sweet freedom show your face
Joy, joy, joy I embrace
Fill my heart with everlasting blood
Young, without child
Have me live yonder miles
Her heart swelled and broke
A moment of grief pursued
Her ears rung with song
Let freedom come
Her teeth chattered
And her hands trembled
As if on a mission of world domination
From outside her bedroom window she saw blue skies and green trees
Rain took the skies
And owned it’s rights
Tart was the fruit
And bitter was its rind
Radiant rays of sunshine cleared the sky
I shall cry no more
No more hits to the ground
Sweet freedom , roar
The sound of foot soldiers on command
And swinging doors dared her to get out of place
Margery, Margery, I’m home
Soldier Bollard ran up to the master bedroom
Haven’t seen you in months , said Daniel
Haven’t heard from you in a year, said Margery
Wasn’t there a major attack on your post?
Few survived, I’m one left behind
You look sick, Marge
Have you slept?
Your hair is unkept and wild
The stove is empty
This is not my wife
Margery nearly died, angry and out of breath
She collects herself and screams from the top of her lungs
I’m a woman
More than a mother and an obedient slave
Before Daniel could respond and react
Margery collapsed yet again
This time within a heartbeat, she was cold and without pulse
Marckincia Jean
Narrative
06/30/19
Soft breath winds crossed the field
Wildflowers bending in its reverence
Cottoned clouds in their endless journey
While the brook chattered over rocks
It was a secret place
Discovered on a Sunday walk
And later our place for picnics and passion
In the warm days of spring and new beginnings
Carrion crows gossiped from the stand of pines
Tall grasses hissed around the breeze
From somewhere a ewe called for a lamb
And the sun was gentle and generous
You would be there, on your back, eyes upward
Smiling at all that was
Wishing that every day could be so wondrous
Until the splendor brought your tears of elation
And there was me . . . . sole witness of true grandeur
Found within the curve of your lip or winsome half smile
You were more glorious than the boastful clouds
More radiant than the sun against the brook stones
Far more gentle and fulfilling than the calming breeze
More easily loved than all of creation
For as the earth will one day consume me
So did you so long ago
(This is a children’s poem, ages 3-4, designed for a picture story book. )
The Duck flew down to the sea, he did
Hoping to find a mate;
But the wind came up
And the waves were rough
And the duck, he was too late.
The Duck flew into the town, he did,
And he waddled down the street.
The children clapped
And the pigeons flapped,
But no sweetheart did he meet.
The Duck flew into the woods, he did,
A true love he’d surely see;
The Squirrels chattered
And the Branches rattled,
But no ducks were in the trees.
The Duck went up to the fair, he did,
And lots of ducks he found.
But they were all behind
Big ribbons and signs
With people all around.
The Duck went home to the pond, he did,
It would be a lonely spring;
When what did he see
But a splendid she
Preening her satiny wing.
Spring and Summer were happy times,
The Ducks paddled on and on.
And ten little ducklings
Paddled behind
At home on the farmer’s pond.
The wilderness has been improved of late,
Or so they say.
The maple trees where sticky syrup oozed
Between the cracks of scarred and broken bark,
The wild apple trees whose crooked branches
Cradled clumps of crudely woven twigs,
Have been replaced by houses, row on row
Of painted boxes gleaming in the naked sun.
The narrow trail, a divine doodle
Traced across the earth and kept in place
By centuries of coyote and bear
And deer that bounded zigzag up the slope
Lies tame and straight beneath the asphalt sweep
That cuts a leveled swath across the peak.
The blackberry briars that pressed against the path
And tore the skin from little hands that wiped
the purple stain on Sunday clothes,
Are cut away, and soft green grass grows in their place.
“Superior development, and more to come,”
The realtor explains,
Not knowing that I was here before.
I scan the hills for one certain house,
An Improvement on a three-room shack
where squirrels chattered in the rafters
And wasps built nests against the eaves,
And berry bushes dirtied up the window panes.
The modern house is pink with snowy trim;
A cement sidewalk leads from drive to door,
And tulips nod obediently by the steps.
Beyond the manicured lawn,
The last undeveloped forest hugs the hill,
And stubborn briars spill onto the planted grass.
“I’ll buy the house,” I tell the man.
He sees me looking at the woods and smiles
Apologetically. “For a slightly higher fee,”
he says, “that bit of forest can be cleared.”
“I’ll take it as it is,” I tell him.
“The blackberries might still grown in there.”
The dark green forests cover the earth with pine , straight and tall , all in a line
Fragrant and soft ,quiet and clean
Gentle giants grow in all sizes, sacred and true, waiting to be seen
The wind stirs through branches and whispers its quick goodbyes ,
While making music that gently soothes the soul
Of one who lies with in my fragrant cocoon, seeking replies
My carpets of needles, warm and sweet, quiet my step and cover my feet
The chickadees, black capped and white, fly to my side
One by one they stop and say hi ,As they pass merrily by
Raccoons, squirrels, rabbits and owls ,gossiped and chattered and told all they knew
And the pine smiles and sings to hear all the news
Their tracks are scattered everywhere ; dotted or round, a pattern or two, give a puzzle, a clue as to what they have been up to
My scent carries in the breeze ,sparkling and green , pungent and clean
The sun beats down , strong and warm ,true to form, it gives me life and keeps me warm
The wind bends and sways my boughs, and I whisper of coolness and dew
The rains splash gentle and sweet to feed my soul and nourish my retreat
For any who listen to hear my silent heartbeat
In our magnificent wilderness home, deep and calm, where our waters run pure and we cant be found
We live whole through all the seasons and for every action we have a reason
All summer long I grow nuts and cones to feed all my friends
I will replenish the earth , nor do I waste, for all I have I lend
In winter, I lay refreshed , sparkling and white, covered in blankets of snow
As I sit and doze I hear the earth speak in tones very low,
She calls and I listen ,sleep, sleep for I am here
Protecting watching caring for all, in things that I do
I gather myself in her darkest womb awaiting the way, that first warm spring day
It is spring and my blood runs strong, make more of me it calls, as I grow big and strong
Awake, awake for it is my time again , the sun ,wind , rain, and tiny feet
To gently sit and play all day long
In the sun and rain silently watching waiting all day long
Tina-Louise dashed into a tattoo parlor
And asked for some ink in the shape of a flower.
Much below the knees so my mom doesn’t holler;
Would you hurry-up please, I’ve only one hour.
Seeing as that flower was never discovered,
Tina-Louise went back in for another.
And this time she preferred it higher to cover
A birth mark she wanted to hide from a lover
Since it turned winter, others were oblivious,
So each new tattoo became insidious.
As her pants concealed the vividly obvious,
This fact let Tina to be more devious.
Then before spring, Tina-Louise met a good man
Who was employed at emptying garbage cans.
In no time she had a diamond ring on her hands,
And a tattoo of “Stu” high up on her gams.
Tina-Louise’s belly started projecting
Because of the baby she was expecting.
And it mattered not that her Stu was objecting
To the art of ink that she wasn’t neglecting.
Even Tina-Louise’s gynecologist
Chattered on like a wannabe psychologist.
Saying stop with the inking, you need to desist,
And carried on like a show off apologist.
Well, TL’s final tattoo went high on her neck
Of some odd creature from the series, Star Trek.
And poor Stu could barely keep his temper in check
With that mouthful of Clingon he got with a peck.
Tina-Louise’s water finally did break
During delivery, Doc said for goodness sake.
It’s bizarre days like today that take the cake,
For there’s a glitch with your baby that’s a mistake.
The parents were concerned; well wouldn’t you be too?
They thought maybe their baby came out cold blue.
Nope, the shaken Doc said, this is completely new;
Your sweet little baby has a rose bud tattoo!
With one look, Stu fainted onto the sterile floor,
Since this wasn’t the newborn he bargained for.
Then Tina-Louise gave out one last birthing roar
That started and finished with curses galore.
Afterword Tina-Louise sat alone and bawled
Lamenting the curse to her new baby doll.
Why didn’t I listen to my mom at all?
And to all the others who made the right call?
TL and Stu’s baby now has beautiful skin
Thanks to the marvels of modern medicine.
Though Tina-Louise never performed a real sin;
She wished all her tattoos stayed below her shin.
For Juli- Michelle's Rhyme Battle contest 9/29/13
Sleep denied, binding sheets
restrained hot, apprehensive form;
beneath the bed, dragons' tails rapped
red staccato on the rails,
those blaze colored beasts
restlessly groaned embered tones,
cauterizing thoughts on Fear's volcanic brand.
Heavy quiet, sinister,
stealthily slinking in the dark,
gathered like oppressive fog
about the midnight strike.
The knob chattered, teeth on edge,
a hammer blow of door
on wall before the fall of footsteps
stabbing down the hall.
Repulsive sound . . . belt undone,
colliding with the floor,
the hated, clutching heaviness of him
who roughly spoiled.
Copyright, August 9, 2014