Best Chide Poems
On troubled roads of life, when opposing sides collide,
Conflict of emotions clamors, agitating ego and pride,
While empathy warns: let forgiveness be your guide,
As benevolent angels, in missives of compassion chide.
Mired in wins and losses, when humanity strums offbeat,
Adversaries propagate hatred, and blatantly mistreat,
As meaningless conversations puff up, donning conceit,
While expressions of solemn amiability retreat in defeat.
A proffer of calm and goodwill, checks enemy’s reign
When sanctity prevails, calming a perturbed domain,
As atonement and humility heal, soothing angst of pain
And disturbed vibes seeking revenge, begin to wane.
As nobility of repentance tenders offers of mercy, grace,
Malevolent behaviors recede, ashamed in disgrace,
And enlightenment of intellect inspires vacuous space,
When hosting redemption, reformed enemies embrace.
In affluence of cognitive thoughts informed minds elate
Harboring tolerance and sympathy, discarding hate,
Being harmonious with peace, mundane life they liberate,
Achieving balance within, unfazed by travails of fate.
It was deep dark, silence roaming outside
if I couldn't see and hear, it is myself to chide
the urge within pushed my fright aside
time to open the gates of my soul wide.
My journeys I used to have on my own
seeking sheer thrill in my serene zone
for what I painfully miss, I strive to atone
thriving when every ounce in me is full and grown.
The lure of a wonder seized my powers
breaking through my walls and towers
an ocean unearthing my grain and flowers
weeding out what is in my soil ugly and sour.
What reached my soul was so profound, so austere
it is beyond my feel, something I awe and fear
the mysteries in books were to me so clear
and in life, through deep darkness unable to steer.
To raw Nature I carried my tribulation
along with a torturing silence and lamentation
seeking spiritual guidance and revelation
Almighty God, help me not to succumb to temptation!
And here I am, with my words touching my solid earth
carving a clear voice of woe and mirth
aspiring to feed an inner sense of worth
as an avid reader accords my poetry a rebirth.
As you ponder each turn that has landed you here,
taut tempo will quicken and frail futures loom near.
Take one somber moment, step away from the din:
The voyage, the detours, the past and what's been.
You look back behind you to retrace every mile.
It bring tears of regret and the trace of a smile.
Hang on first, then let go, due to whimsy or age.
What you keep in the end is the test of a sage.
Fools still ignore the supreme ticks of the clock,
in each change in fashion, embraced by the flock.
Walk on and ignore them, don't bother to chide,
these pathetic lemmings swept away by the tide.
Peer off in the distance as you fight off the chill.
You must climb still further to the top of the hill.
Play the tailor to time, cut and trim, make it fit.
Find the time in your life. Take time to enjoy it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtpPcmLKRFU Dancing Bird
Yesterday, I saw a shadow dart across my keyboard.
When I turned to look outside the window,
I spied upon a sparrow playing in the sun.
He was dancing in dramatic fashion
Across the shrubbery that was his home.
I could tell it was a male by his markings.
He was busy with his boasting, and proud.
No longer a fledge, he fluffed his feathers
To parade his prowess to all that might adore him.
Then, he pivoted into a pirouette, and pranced
Most skillfully across the length of a branch
And launched himself into flight.
Today, the sounds of birds cackling and chirping
Inside the shrubbery drew me to the window.
I could see three sparrows engaging in some fun and frolic.
Perhaps it was some flirtatious mating ceremony.
While most sparrows do look alike,
I’m sure that one of them was the dancing bird
I’d seen the day before. I watched briefly and smiled,
Remembering my own courtship and rivals
Who would fancy my choice as their own.
I returned to the monitor and before I could begin
My work, there was a loud thud upon the glass.
I gazed outside and there upon the ground was a small hawk
Clutching the dancer in his talons.
Tomorrow, this bird will not dance.
He will not sing or court another.
And as sparrows are many,
I will no doubt find another to enjoy from this vantage.
I chide myself for failing to warn him of the danger.
I was too busy with my own enjoyment to notice.
Now, I close my eyes and reconstruct those moments
As I attempt to resurrect the dancing bird,
And preserve him....forever.
I want love
Not the normal kind
Multi colored hues
Nothing subdued
I’ve got a wildness in my spirit
And I don’t want to be tamed
Is there a man that is mature enough
To be done with the games
Can a man appreciate my freedom
And let me have a voice
Respect my decisions
And respect my choice
I want a man with a strength
And a passion inside
Not afraid of commitment
Doesn’t feel the need to chide
Where is that man that
Can love without restraint
To give his heart absolutely
He doesn’t have to be a saint
I know you’re out there
I know we will meet
Until that time baby
Just know I’m complete
I’m patiently waiting
Most of the time
But sometimes without warning
I break out in rhyme
Get here soon so we have time to play
I’m in the autumn of life
And I can’t waste a day
A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN
Her face was a constellation of perfections
She was ravishing; beautiful beyond condemnation.
Her voice was like many water
Yet, it's coo whenever she sputtered.
Her gait was just so alluring
No wonder men couldn't help but kept gazing.
She trod on her pathway like a goddess -
This woman I saw was priceless.
Even her dance step sent signals to heavenly bodies
The immortals were mesmerized - she was more than a novice.
The flexibility of her body was as a swift wind
It moved so fast, it could not be filmed.
When she sang, it was like that of an angel
Kingdoms let loosed: heaven, earth and hell
In her eyes, you'd see paradise
In her world, great men and women did arise
There was ample concinnity in her kingdom
Everything was cloudless, no entrenchment of freedom
She also spoke with authority and with great audacity
Owning to her greatness, she created a brawny fraternity
Loosed men and women longed to have her by their side
'Sorry, I'm not your type' she did chide
They tried to restrain, but they were so much in love
Her being angry at them only waxed their hearts together in her glove
Men of great status came to have her
They were with their luxuries - they came from afar
The splendour of her beauty got them sprawling to the floor
The radiance of her look made their visions blur
In her, greatness was defined
There are so many traits of hers which can't be outlined
She kept her statute; she was a woman of virtue
Her works were known, they reached their plateau
Of a truth, this woman is a goddess
And this makes me remember the game of chess
At the end, the king and queen are brought to rear
So also is this woman I saw. Her name is Nigeria.
Here’s what I’m thinking now
at the end of the world:
There are no atheists in foxholes—
no theists in politics.
If knowledge is power,
and power corrupts,
then why did I bother reading you, Cicero?
Does it matter that I didn't’t love you?
Would it have mattered if I did?
There’s a poetry reading tonight
whence I’I'll chide other poets
who don’t sit alone.
I won’t bring up death
but I might have to breathe,
even into a mike
and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo
maybe even a wince or two.
Just maybe I’I'll talk about love
and how following your heart is like following a dog—
it only leads to vittles and (female dogs).
But how many times have I used that line
since the story I wrote about you,
a witty and sexy and fictional you?
Most likely I’I'll read something tonight about you.
I won’t recite it from memory
because I don’t think about you that much anymore,
not even when I search for my socks in your drawer
or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me,
horizontally striped to bring out my eyes?
I don’t remember your eyes
except they are blue.
And I don’t remember you,
not even when I smell cucumber and apple,
not even when I sleep on my side of the bed
or when you walk through the door
happy to see me;
even then I don’t remember you.
Does it matter that I don’t love you?
Would it have mattered if I did?
How about a few one-liners
for the end of days?—
Depression is self-awareness,
which you’d know if you were;
I need Ritalin to listen to you,
Lithium to hug you,
Viagra to feel you,
and Valium to sleep.
All you need
is me standing there, waiting at home
with turns of phrase and word plays
telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand
but want to buy as much as I can
and how I love celebrity gossip
and detest poetry slams
and find rhyming trite
except when I am.
Hypocrites can still be right,
which you do understand
because you nod at my nonsense
about fighting the man.
But now, at the end of all things—
I’m speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read,
and you’re just sitting there, smiling
asking me to pass the bread.
The dawn has come; the birds outside
have gathered, seemingly to chide
me, chirping loudly in the trees.
They’re telling all they’re bird friends, “She’s
been staying in as if to hide!”
And sure enough, they haven’t lied.
A part of me feels like I’ve died
and vanished on a passing breeze.
The dawn has come.
I never used to think that I’d
be one to not enjoy the ride
when there’s so much of life to seize!
Beside my window, not at ease,
I watch those early birds now glide. . .
The dawn has come!
You left without saying goodbye
and now I'll never know what it was like,
to have you teach me, eye to eye.
You left without saying goodbye.
Now who will show me how to ride a bike
or chide me when I tell a lie?
You left without saying goodbye
and now I'll never know what it was like.
NOTE: Fictional.
Yet again, another old poem, but have some newer ones in the back-burner. There are so many things to write about, if only one is in the mood and state of mind to organize those thoughts into something tangible and readable.
I didn't think I'd ever get to meet you,
knowing full well how much rejection stings.
And I thought the stories I'd heard were true,
that you're a full-fledged bird flexing its wings.
Not a caged canary who sweetly sings,
but a hawk, keen for the thrill the hunt brings.
You appeared Angelic, beyond pretty,
and so, I didn't believe I had a chance.
You were breathtaking, charming, and witty;
I doubted that I'd get a second glance.
And yet, your aura held me in a trance,
compelling me to ask you for a dance.
At first, I thought you'd laugh and ignore me;
I wasn't entirely sure how I should start.
I was tempted to turn around and flee
as I approached a living work of art.
And my courage was fast falling apart,
scared that you might chide me and break my heart.
But instead, you smiled, looked into my eyes
and answered yes: to my complete surprise.
It was conceived in quiet hope,
within the morning’s light.
But it died, as with the sunset,
and this rose in the night.
It was meant a chide to winter,
for stealing her away,
a curse to all the elements,
but that was child’s play.
For it is not the dark or cold,
that keeps her heart from me.
It never was poor nature’s fault,
though it took me long to see.
She wasn’t taken from me.
She chose to leave me here.
She wasn’t forced against her will,
to sprinkle me with fear.
But I am not afraid now.
My mind is clear at last.
I guess I’ve crossed that bridge, now.
Farewell, my ghostly past.
And I bid adieu to that sad dream,
where winter kept her free,
to inspire with love’s specter,
the poem that will never be.
23 March 2016
One cannot chide
A teenage bride
Who wants it all done proper
To God Above
She swears its love
But God knows that's a whopper!
Cold howling winds have finally died
And a spring sun’s decided to abide
There’s no sweeter place than countryside
What a wonderful time to send the kids outside
Reclaiming a chunk of ‘me’ time I decide
To tackle that novel and sit by the fireside
Hang stress out like an old faded apron to hide
It’s the perfect moment to feel thoroughly satisfied
Plenty of time later to be busy and preoccupied
Children intoxicated with spring are wide-eyed
Exude joy and freedom in their stride
Silly with excitement, wild and cock-eyed
Running free up and down the hillside
I see no reason for chide
As I watch them eagle-eyed
Smiling with so much love and pride
Thinking of days gone by as a guide
When I'll call them back inside
The kids will be exhausted, bonafide
With rosy cheeks into bed they’ll glide
Won’t take long choosing a side
For tonight’s treasured stories at bedside
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted on March 10, 2018 for contest SPRING FLING ZING KING (OR QUEEN) sponsored by MICHAEL VASEK - HONORABLE MENTION
Nightmares and Master Poe's Greatest Riddle
I took a silver fork, gold spoon and rusty knife
trying to cut away the dark stains in my life,
with each slice I stood aghast, dumbfounded finding more
chained was I, in torture room without any floor.
On its walls hung hands and heads of the blackest dead,
all its walls washed in blood so very, very red,
angry shadows that would reach out to stab at will
for my every anguished moan gave them a great thrill.
An eternity, night bled as it slowly passed,
not enough time to pay for my dark sins amassed,
each morn came revelation, just before dawn's break
next to me was he, Master Poe bound to a stake.
He would wake, speak to me as if a long lost friend,
promise this paradise, my time would never end
and then summon his Raven to chide me as well
laughing loud, saying, welcome my friend to my Hell.
I begged, Master Poe, release me, let me go
I beg you, Lord and Master of this horror show,
I see you control all in this evil abode
lessen thy dark-handed grip, release thy firm hold.
With a sardonic smile he would give his reply
off you go, return each night my Raven shall fly,
to this dark curse, I gave my sorrowful reply
please Master Poe, tell me, tell me the reason why.
His echoes rang as away my torn body flew
Raven leaves Hades at midnight's stroke is your clue,
with its flight comes both sweet pleasures and epic pains
one for truest of love, other for darkest of stains.
Now I wrestled for years this riddle, its vague clue
sought out every wise man, this one thing I knew,
the truest of love was his, Master Poe's Annabel Lee
but how, how could that tidbit ever free me?
Tonight I pray that this tired, pleading soul may rest
as I live in pain on this Poe torturing quest,
my plea pitiful but true to this old poet's heart,
please give me the riddle's answer, so life can restart!
Robert J. Lindley,
My second poem written on the greatest dark poetry author, the Master Poet, Edgar Allen Poe.
Started -- November 9th, 1973
Finished - this morn, April 2nd, 2018
Note- I truly wish that I had finished this back 45 years ago, as I feel my current writing does not measure up. Why I left this half finished I have no memory- but finish the piece I felt that I must.
Icy blue were his eyes;
Fingertips gentle and silken.
Soft, soft were his sighs.
We played the game like children.
Strong were his arms, shoulders wide.
He drew my trembling to him.
Eager lips were my guide
And we played the game like children.
I pulled away, a little aside,
Seeking my flavors to tell him.
With a silent touch to my lips, he denied;
We're playing the game like children.
I'll be the seeker, you be the hide.
We laugh with the bridge that falls down.
You be the farmer, I'll be your bride,
Who'll be the juggling clown?
He sang to himself in the garden outside.
His voice was a truly a treasure!
And once again, me doest he chide:
Ne'er g'ie name to your pleasure!
Icy blue are his eyes;
Fingertips golden and silken.
Over the years we together conspire
To play the game like children.