Best Direst Poems
FACING LONELINESS
I was told by wisdom that to know loneliness is to know oneself.
She said to be alone is essence.
In that, you do not misuse this time with heartache but seek a greater way.
I have experience this kind of direst.
Through the lack of unity, I became distressed.
Being alone became a form of harmony with the world.
My knowledge grew via my worldview becoming skewed.
I was given knowledge via the face of loneliness.
He told me to hold my head-up because anyone can make a mistake.
It is not to be unaccompanied from the world’s marketplace.
However, this is a time to gain insight unaided.
I was told by my own knowledge that sometimes anyone needs space.
Through this knowledge, I am alone but I am not lonely today.
|____________________________________________________|
Penned On November 16, 2014!
Categories:
direst, appreciation, loneliness, time,
Form:
Free verse
Angels come in a variety of sizes,
often unexpected, full of surprises.
Times when we’re in direst need,
without fanfare or showy parade,
they’ll comfort us with timely aid,
being sympathetic, they pay heed.
Possessing no halo that can be seen,
they’re often someone who has been
a familiar face in the neighbourhood.
Maybe an acquaintance living near
who helps us vanquish doubt and fear.
At the onset, it is clearly understood
they seek no reward nor compensation.
Showing no bias or dogmatic persuasion,
Angels are there when ill fortune overtakes,
and we feel cornered; the future bleak.
Bolstering our resolve, they’ll quietly speak
to restore optimism, and relieve heartbreaks.
But to see Angels we must first open our eyes,
as they favour no stereotype. We must recognise
they come in varied sizes and temperaments,
displaying no signs, such as halo and wings,
nor playing harpsichord, as a heavenly choir sings,
being plain folks, without musical instruments.
Nonetheless, they restore our peace of mind
when our need is greatest. Ever welcome, we find
their presence alone, exerts a becalming effect.
Without Angels to ease times of deep despair,
our burden, could prove impossible to bear.
Such Angels are ones we love and respect!
Rhymer. June 1st, 2016
Categories:
direst, philosophy,
Form:
Rhyme
Beneath a shroud in mystery
was built a monument sublime,
where flowed a river endlessly,
her flow kissed the periphery,
ignored the grasp of time.
So great the span of her intent
she circled mound and battlement,
where roses sprang in every glorious hue,
and other vibrant flowers showed their worth,
as ancient trees spired mightily in view,
and full proclaimed the grandeur of the earth.
Behold the caves where lovers kept their tryst,
close hidden where the mountain swooped and shaded,
well guarded by the shadows and the mist,
a devil's place where dissidents and traitors kissed
in heated passion, and their love degraded.
Within the gloom a roiling and a bursting,
a waterspout came thrusting, thunder blasting,
and spat huge molten rocks like tiny pebbles,
the torrent coursing down, not merely dribbles,
the raging maelstrom flinging high and over,
revealed beneath the streaming sacred river.
She ran through dale and covert full continuous,
a journey never ending, until she reached the sea.
And then was heard a cry, a call to arms,
that neither bliss nor solitude becalms.
Yet music from the edifice and caves
o'ercame the sound of warring and of strife,
reverberations and the crashing of the waves
a mighty symphony in tune with all of life.
the sun-bleached monument regaled in gold,
the savage caves, calamitous and cold.
A dream of perfect grace I once beheld,
a lady with a voice as clear as spring,
a vision of my destiny
she sang of sweet eternity,
such joyful notes didst bring!
Would that I might recover
the beauty of her song,
the passion of a secret lover,
I might labor hard and long
to recreate this sacrament,
its sunny climes, its frozen spa,
a two-edged sword its testament,
a blessing and a curse both spent,
to dwell within that twin entombment,
a two-tongued threat beneath Abora.
For whosoever breaks these grounds,
and recreates conflicting sounds,
has tasted direst dark and Shangri-la!
Categories:
direst, fantasy,
Form:
Verse
III
But, of course, I had no dizzying towers
To burn...only bridges; and they were torched
Years ago in the urgency of my direst hours;
Along with so many mighty battlements sacked,
Countless golden fields scorched...
Afterall -- it was the age of Bronze!
I should have well known that in the flight
Of birds, in each cold dawns pale grey light,
I would eventually come to see the unalterable
Fates of Wilusha's last Imperial Scions:-
Tottering precariously - on the brink -
A world in crisis! Then the elopement...
Did you not once stop to carefully think
It through? Giddied no doubt by bestowment
Of that accursed title; just as if it were the
Same giddying rush
You have experienced from the heady
Potency of a full bodied, Oaked Chardonnay.
The coy performance at being required to strip --
An inner excitement at your self's shamed
Nakedness! The obvious insincerity on display
When receiving an invite to dine at the gaudy
Little bistro; your hot skin noticeably flushed
With the delirium of wine; frequently
Pressed to partake of yet another glass;
There was, he casually said, much to be
Desired in a pleasurable rape. Her audible gasp...
As if, from that roadside window, she was
Suddenly staring out over the idyllic plains
Of mythical Arcadia;
His eloquent assurances artfully calculated
To lend themselves to a distressful behaviour.
Categories:
direst, longing,
Form:
Rhyme
Beneath a shroud in mystery
was built a monument sublime,
where flowed a river endlessly,
her flow kissed the periphery,
ignored the grasp of time.
So great the span of her intent
she circled mound and battlement,
where roses sprang in every glorious hue,
and other vibrant flowers showed their worth,
as ancient trees spired mightily in view,
and full proclaimed the grandeur of the earth.
Behold the caves where lovers kept their tryst,
close hidden where the mountain swooped and shaded,
well guarded by the shadows and the mist,
a devil's place where dissidents and traitors kissed
in heated passion, and their love degraded.
Within the gloom a roiling and a bursting,
a waterspout came thrusting, thunder blasting,
and spat huge molten rocks like tiny pebbles,
the torrent coursing down, not merely dribbles,
the raging maelstrom flinging high and over,
revealed beneath the streaming sacred river.
She ran through dale and covert full continuous,
a journey never ending, until she reached the sea.
And then was heard a cry, a call to arms,
that neither bliss nor solitude becalms.
Yet music from the edifice and caves
o'ercame the sound of warring and of strife,
reverberations and the crashing of the waves
a mighty symphony in tune with all of life.
the sun-bleached monument regaled in gold,
the savage caves, calamitous and cold.
A dream of perfect grace I once beheld,
a lady with a voice as clear as spring,
a vision of my destiny
she sang of sweet eternity,
such joyful notes didst bring!
Would that I might recover
the beauty of her song,
the passion of a secret lover,
I might labor hard and long
to recreate this sacrament,
its sunny climes, its frozen spa,
a two-edged sword its testament,
a blessing and a curse both spent,
to dwell within that twin entombment,
a two-tongued threat beneath Abora.
For whosoever breaks these grounds,
and recreates conflicting sounds,
has tasted direst dark and Shangri-la!
Categories:
direst, writing,
Form:
Verse
How Can The Blinded Ever Bear To See
Above drudgery of this life
skies just begging to be seen
sun sends its warmth and its hello
to a humanity that oft wanders blind,
in its glories rotten to its core.
What shouts out in sorrows and in epic pains
none but retributions and loss of sweet hope
born by a mad walk down vanity's darkest path
complete with arrogance of want to be gods!
Above the Dragon that lies in wait
its sharp claws spoiled with dried bloods
its legions prowling for pleasures they need
world rewarding as such merit thus calls-
to misery, sacrifices fruits of death.
How can the blinded ever bear to see
morbid curse they adore and truly embrace
for mortal souls lounge in festering ponds
and moan in silence among valleys of midnight calls!
Above pits of cavernous despairs
man races into his welcoming abyss
his heart chained to selfish desires
mind a cage of ego driven exasperation,
poison arrows sent to pierce truth.
When will life's beauty, its powers happily reveal
to a mad herd claiming gems born of darkness
and at dawn's rise plead for their well hidden masks
so as no stray mirror dares shines most feared truth!
Robert J. Lindley, 7-17-2019
Prose, ( What Time And Truth May One Day Reveal )
Note:
Strange the waves that oft surge within dream seas
views of dark pits and direst moaning pleas
anguish born from travels on earth's darken paths
and saddest sorrows, fruits of divine wrath.
Categories:
direst, art, culture, deep, humanity,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Adoringly, she stares at you,
trusting that you will see her through,
her rescuer from direst straits.
So at your feet, she patient waits.
The master’s children first are fed;
bewildered not by what He said,
she knows her place, but doesn’t care.
She’s certain there’s enough to share.
A Canaanite does thus inspire
the object of her great desire;
In Tyre no less, not synagogues -
great indeed, the faith of dogs…
----------
musings on Matthew 15:21-28
Categories:
direst, faith,
Form:
Rhyme
Beneath a shroud in mystery
was built a monument sublime,
where flowed a river endlessly,
her flow kissed the periphery,
ignored the grasp of time.
So great the span of her intent
she circled mound and battlement,
where roses sprang in every glorious hue,
and other vibrant flowers showed their worth,
as ancient trees spired mightily in view,
and full proclaimed the grandeur of the earth.
Behold the caves where lovers kept their tryst,
close hidden where the mountain swooped and shaded,
well guarded by the shadows and the mist,
a devil's place where dissidents and traitors kissed
in heated passion, and their love degraded.
Within the gloom a roiling and a bursting,
a waterspout came thrusting, thunder blasting,
and spat huge molten rocks like tiny pebbles,
the torrent coursing down, not merely dribbles,
the raging maelstrom flinging high and over,
revealed beneath the streaming sacred river.
She ran through dale and covert full continuous,
a journey never ending, until she reached the sea.
And then was heard a cry, a call to arms,
that neither bliss nor solitude becalms.
Yet music from the edifice and caves
o'ercame the sound of warring and of strife,
reverberations and the crashing of the waves
a mighty symphony in tune with all of life.
the sun-bleached monument regaled in gold,
the savage caves, calamitous and cold.
A dream of perfect grace I once did hear,
a lady with a voice as clear as spring,
a vision of my destiny
she sang of sweet eternity,
such joyful notes didst bring!
Would that I might recover
the beauty of her song,
the passion of a secret lover,
I might labour hard and long
to recreate this sacrament,
its sunny climes, its frozen spa,
a two-edged sword its testament,
a blessing and a curse both spent,
to dwell within that twin entombment,
a two-tongued threat beneath Abora.
For whosoever breaks these grounds,
and recreates conflicting sounds,
has tasted direst dark and Shangri-la!
Categories:
direst, mythology,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
For we perceive beyond the rainbow,
Beyond the shadow of gravity holding ISS.
Caught not in a void
But like bees wading in their own honey,
Pollinating space with thoughts …
Our tent did blow from on high
Exposing this nakedness.
They, uncomprehending,
A soul did incarcerate;
Feeding barest morsels shared with rats;
Though famished eyed her fleeting skirt.
So did she infiltrate his racked dreams?
Spittle healing cuts; kisses soothing bruises,
Milk nourishing hunger …
Tears washing away grimy sorrow.
Such comfort in the bounds of direst misery …
Categories:
direst, desire, dream, grief, imagery,
Form:
Prose Poetry
The Lay of Sir Donald
(Or: Le Chanson de Donald)
An orange man – of red and trailing tie,
Small hands, and copious twitter-feed – sing I!
Most staunch ’gainst Saracen and Mede is he,
Bare-armed and ruddy-necked his followers be.
Brightly he barteth, and knows how, full well,
In sev’n-score characters his truth to tell.
Courtly he is to nymphs – yea, most correct –
And any contradictions he’ll reject:
Talk of “ailuric rapture”, he maintains,
Was nothing more than banter between swains.
And though, by direst foe as “dotard” shamed –
By REGAL liege-man “moron”, too, proclaimed –
He’s shunned by ANGELA, the Teuton queen
For policies much nearer black than green,
He’s loved by VIKTOR, chief of Magyar horde,
And (still?) VLADIMIR, Muscovy’s dark lord.
But all now tremble at his reckoning,
In Orient far, with JONG the Hermit King.
Tis hard to know whose head is the more beefy
Or whose hair more eccentric’ly coiffefe.
“Since in ballistics you indulge, and fission,”
Quoth he, “Let us contend in micturition.
My country’s armoury is locked and loaded
To make yours but a wilderness,” he goaded.
You doubt he sets his cap at Tyranny?
That risk of Bloody Warre augmented be?
As well to doubt the POPE’S denomination,
Or Silvan Sites of Ursine Defecation!
Categories:
direst, funny, political,
Form:
Political Verse
The season of hope, the season of giving,
The time to reflect on the life you've been living.
Children innocent, gleeful, jolly,
Masquerading in magical midnight folly.
Token gifts exchanged with teary eyes,
Sentimentality to make up for expressionless lies.
The streets lined bright with twinkling lights,
Amaretto, giddy to dispell never-ending nights.
The anticipation is welcomed into their chests,
The disillusioned only waiting to end their direst.
Simply a day if you've no one to share with,
Only a waiting game, until it is over with.
Just one day yet it's been another year,
Rejection was always your biggest fear.
Melancholia swelling in your heart, loneliness growing more,
Then Christmas is over and it's all back to how it was before.
Categories:
direst, absence, age, goodbye, loss,
Form:
ABC
A celestial mother's belly grows
Her precious burden shows
Yet of the youth to leave her care
She is most unaware
He vanquished evil, death defied
Healed diseases, conquered lies
To, in his direst moment call;
"It is done"
Categories:
direst, religion
Form:
Beneath a shroud in mystery
was built a monument sublime,
where flowed a river endlessly,
her flow kissed the periphery,
withheld the grasp of time.
So great the span of her intent
she circled mound and battlement,
where roses sprang with every glorious hue,
and other vibrant flowers showed their worth,
as ancient trees rose mightily in view,
and full displayed the grandeur of the earth.
Behold the caves where lovers kept their tryst,
close hidden where the mountain swooped and shaded,
well guarded by the shadows and the mist,
a devil's place where dissidents and traitors kissed
in heated passion, though their lust's degraded.
Within the gloom a roiling and a bursting,
a waterspout came thrusting, thunder blasting,
and spat huge molten rocks like tiny pebbles,
the torrent coursing down, not merely dribbles,
the raging maelstrom flinging high and ever,
revealed beneath the streaming sacred river.
She ran through dale and covert full continuous,
a journey never ending, until she reached the sea.
And then was heard a cry, a call to arms!
that neither bliss nor solitude becalms.
Yet the music from the edifice and caves
o'ercame the sound of warring and of strife,
reverberations and the crashing of the waves
a mighty symphony in tune with all of life.
the sun-bleached monument regaled in gold,
the savage caves, calamitous and cold.
A dream of perfect grace I once beheld,
a lady with a voice as clear as spring,
a vision of my destiny,
she sang of sweet eternity,
such joyful notes didst bring!
Would that I might recover
the beauty of her song,
the passion of a secret lover,
I might labor hard and long
to recreate this sacrament,
its sunny climes, its frozen spa,
a two-edged sword its testament,
a blessing and a curse both spent,
to dwell within that twin entombment,
a two-tongued threat beneath Abora?
for whosoever breaks these grounds,
and recreates conflicting sounds,
has tasted direst hell and Shangri-la!
Categories:
direst, write,
Form:
Verse
...inspired by 'Kubla Khan' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Beneath a shroud in mystery
was built a monument sublime,
where flowed a river endlessly,
her flow kissed the periphery,
ignored the grasp of time.
So great the span of her intent
she circled mound and battlement,
where roses sprang in every glorious hue,
and other vibrant flowers showed their worth,
as ancient trees spired mightily in view,
and full proclaimed the grandeur of the earth.
Behold the caves where lovers kept their tryst,
close hidden where the mountain swooped and shaded,
well guarded by the shadows and the mist,
a devil's place where dissidents and traitors kissed
in heated passion, and their love degraded.
Within the gloom a roiling and a bursting,
a waterspout came thrusting, thunder blasting,
and spat huge molten rocks like tiny pebbles,
the torrent coursing down, not merely dribbles,
the raging maelstrom flinging high and over,
revealed beneath the streaming sacred river.
She ran through dale and covert full continuous,
a journey never ending, until she reached the sea.
And then was heard a cry, a call to arms,
that neither bliss nor solitude becalms.
Yet music from the edifice and caves
o'ercame the sound of warring and of strife,
reverberations and the crashing of the waves
a mighty symphony in tune with all of life.
the sun-bleached monument regaled in gold,
the savage caves, calamitous and cold.
A dream of perfect grace I once beheld,
a lady with a voice as clear as spring,
a vision of my destiny
she sang of sweet eternity,
such joyful notes didst bring!
Would that I might recover
the beauty of her song,
the passion of a secret lover,
I might labour hard and long
to recreate this sacrament,
its sunny climes, its frozen spa,
a two-edged sword its testament,
a blessing and a curse both spent,
to dwell within that twin entombment,
a two-tongued threat beneath Abora.
For whosoever breaks these grounds,
and recreates conflicting sounds,
has tasted direst dark and Shangri-la!
Categories:
direst, fantasy,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
I’m suspended in an open cage,
a tomb that bears no dead,
a nexus without answers,
for questions are its bread.
Unfettered is its body,
and endless is its reach,
and you cannot escape it,
this, no man can teach.
Let me tell you without image,
let me show you without sound,
Let me drag you down to heaven,
let me lift you to the ground.
For it's beyond, within, without,
its greatest weapon is your doubt,
So listen, watch, and touch, and taste,
and I’ll unwrap the monster’s face.
Its horns are countless choices.
Its eyes are future’s fields.
Its maw is pure desire.
Its claws are plans that yield.
So sweet is every part of it,
so beautiful, so right.
Truth distilled in matter,
a drink of pure starlight.
But the pieces of this puzzle,
alone, such works of art,
together are a nightmare,
oblivion’s very heart.
O can’t you see?
O can’t you hear?
O can’t you feel?
The direst fear,
of knowing roads cannot be walked,
that time cannot retrace,
that selection is destruction,
extinction of a race,
of lives that one could someday live,
of people one could see,
of dreams that needed dreaming,
of love that had to be.
But now it’s gone, forever,
what’s real is fantasy,
you’ve slaughtered better stories,
for a mere drop of the sea.
And that’s the cage, the iron lock,
that keeps my life in line.
It’s the pull of countless choices,
each one so cruelly fine,
Not because of problems,
or faults in any one,
But because you choose a single path,
and so much else is gone.
9 October 2015
Categories:
direst, conflict, irony, lost, riddle,
Form:
Rhyme