Best Forbade Poems
Trudging under frozen starlit skies
Against stiff Winters bitter blowes...
When ambling up past frosted trees
From the wooded valley down below.
As stepping into a clearing glade,
Surround ragged drifts of thinning snow,
Once Summers haze - long since forbade,
Now pale Moon beams all aglow.
For within this realm of Twilight,
Perched high up in a bush,
Snugly within his feathered form
Roosts a warbled Darkling Thrush.
Stirred from his ruffled thoughts...
Dulcet voice lifts upon still night:
With euphonious notes so sweetly sung -
Poured forth in harmonious delight!
Oh tawny Throstle, nemesis of
Nightingales,
Did Heavens Choirs ever sound so sweet?
Your scrawny throat of melodious rails -
That kept my lover from her feet!
God sent His only Son to Earth to bring
Enlightenment, Hope and Harmony.
Free will forbade that he should force
The Truth on world that would not see.
For thirty years Christ labored here,
With His clear message from above.
Enlightenment, Hope and Harmony
Will come when Man has learned to love.
Betrayed by one professed as friend,
Christ died upon the cruel tree.
The only charges they could press
Were Enlightenment, Hope and Harmony.
Christ died, but then He did not die
And His bright light still lights the way
To Enlightenment, Hope and Harmony
If we live and love in His pure way.
April 20/13
For Enlightenment, Hope and Harmony contest
Where Man Walks Blindly And Heart Begs Relief
In the gnashing of teeth rests
a curse hurled at infinity
with its smug cannons of false piety
and impudent airs of erosion.
Where that mystical Chalice of Hope
walks upon its three broken legs
seven poison arrows await delivery
unto Dawn's wide and gaping jaws.
As solemn cries quake the dying tree
untouched fruit, begs the ants
see our value, our sorrows
and tear into us, divinely.
From within hurt's final locket
golden relief asks no more
midnight flights of fancy
or delicious dregs of sad sorrows.
From seas of swarming inequities
fly certainty of rectitude
pipes of anxiety
chasms of cavernous solitude
and spasms of deepest regrets.
Where hides oceans of serenity
touch of soft velvety clouds
fertile soils of sweet charity
warmth of dawn's gasping lights
its new greeting hands?
Robert J. Lindley, 5-04-2019
Free verse, ( Thoughts My Muse Once Forbade Me To Ink )
Note: From this following old poem fragment that I recently found
on the back of one of my longer poems, I sat down and decided to write a free verse creation from that ancient time in my life and my memory of my thoughts back then
("As I walk short plank over hollow seas
Begging my feet to race ever faster
Or else jump as if all falling was free
And no more was Fate my truest master!"
RJL,1973 )
So clamorous in clouds of gray,
to shake once tranquil bliss astir;
reluctantly, it joined the fray,
a tumult tango beckoned her.
On every churning white-capped wave,
where breaths in howling echoes dwell,
they dance ashore and misbehave
where nature's fates forbade, foretell.
Fandango spins upon the seas
where tempests tease a tropic storm,
what once was born a peaceful breeze
now grows in yield, now comes the swarm.
Infatuation's flashing glances
aroused the night beyond the fears
to where once heedful caution dances
to where a love forgets the tears.
So brief, it seems, excitement dwells,
upon the crest of raptured swells...
It started growing in a field
Billy Stover watched it grow
Because the corn was tall
Because Billy Stover was small
No one knew
Now one saw
No one saw how the tiny boy watched by the hour in summer's heat
Even from the top of high elm trees by the road
who could have detected that small lad stretched out
on his stomach leaning on his elbows watching
On stormy days Billy watched from the closest window
elbows propped up on the sill
He knew it was growing though he couldn't see it
He'd be down in the field now in the mud watching
but his mother forbade it
"What do you do out there Billy all by yourself?
What is it you do out there instead of playing?"
On certain days when the wind swayed the green stalks
and nipped Billy's cheeks his eyes would light up
He fought back a burning desire to run into the white kitchen
to tug at his mother's apron to bring her out
and show her his one spot
He jumped up once when the flames leaped high
started running for the house
"Mother! Mother!" he silently shouted
Every part of his small body shook with joy but
The bleak white walls of the kitchen
his mother her hands dipped in bread dough....................................
It started growing in the field in the dirt in the mind of Billy Stover
And no one could have kept a secret better than Billy
My eldest brother, nine years old,
Thought he could break a horse.
Our mother strictly forbade him.
A mother’s right of course.
Her young son mustered all his wiles,
Hoping he could sway her.
Unwilling to be defeated,
He vowed to disobey her.
He gathered a rope and bridle,
Went to the big corral.
He was there to break a wild colt,
Three brothers there to yell.
Our youngest brother, four years old
Yelled, “I’ll tell Ma on you
Unless you take me up there
And give me a ride too.”
In his eagerness to hush him,
His big brother agreed
And lifted him to the bare back
Of that big, trembling steed.
Our father came in nick of time
To salvage little brother,
Then watched as his son rode that colt.
No one told our mother.
A desert flower shrouded in black,
she exudes the sweetness of a rose.
And sidles away from my approach,
her emotions hidden by a veil.
Dazzling eyes of cerulean hue
stare out at me from subtle shadows.
For it's her tradition and custom
that no man's gaze may fall upon her.
Her cloistered features hide from the sun,
camouflaging her uniqueness.
And forbade the mere sight of her smile,
my sad heart propositions the wind.
Please grant my heart this innocent wish,
that I may yet see her hidden face.
And remove the guise of the niqab,
so that my eyes may glimpse her beauty.
(Blank Verse)
5/16/2017
I once shocked you
by my Queen Maud Fromage poem,
remembering a time
when the good Queen Maud
choked on the heavy stuff.
Her courtiers were
about her suddenly,
and Queen Maud was
thumped on royal back
most thoroughly...
Thoroughly, yes thoroughly...
I have it on good report.
A doctor would not lie to me
about Queen Maud, now,
would he so?
The event put Queen off
the cheese for life
and she forbade it in the larder
or else her staff
taste strife.
---------------------------------------------
10/13/2016
Contest - Give Me Your Best James Tate
Sponsor - Space Cadet
4th place win
I've told you how desperate
I am for sleep,
And I got a suggestion
It made me leap
Simplicity itself ; earslugs!
So I went out on a slug hunt,
Without realizing what a stunt,
It takes to be a successful slug-hunter
I found one at last,
Picked it up and so fast,
It oozed through my yucky fingers
More prepared the next chance,
I scooped it up on paper
And watched it's giggly dance,
Dumped it in a glass jar,
And didn't have to go far.
To find my next ear-slug...
Dumped it in as well,
But now I couldn't tell,
What seperated one from the other...
Oh, darn, who cares,
I'll cut this big mess into pairs,
Of suitably sized ear slugs
Home at last,
Poured them out of the glass,
And promptly cut them in 2,
Inserted one in each ear,
I could no longer hear,
But somehow lost my sense of balance,
Crawled to my bed, oh sure,
But I could not long endure
This swishing sound in my ears,
And jelly-like stinking mess
That oozed onto my chest,
And stained my sheets something fearful...
My ears oozed slime for 6 weeks,
And that forbade sleep one seeks,
And the stench of rotting slugs was horrific,
So next time someone suggests ear slugs,
Tell them no thank you please,
Cause I've heard the story of Tom Terrific.
I remember the days when I was small,
obedient and too young to be alone at a mall
Mama would let me go out and play,
with my bare feet on the sand; building shapes with the clay
All day long it would be the same ,
but it all changed when Sunday came...
The comfortable sandals converted to buckled shoes,
that definitely did not reveal my toes
My bright coloured shorts replaced by a white dress,
Oh. My mother dearest forbade me to mess
Then there were those navy blue tights,
itchy, hot and I couldn't put up a fight
Mama would fetch her hat, all decorated with sequins and lace,
she thought it complimented her feminine face.
Baba would stay comfortable on the couch,
while off she went to fetch her pouch
When we arrived, there they all were identical in their Sunday-gear,
hugs and handshakes were exchanged everywhere,
then the service would start with its exciting atmosphere.
What I remember most, was when we got home,
Greens, oranges, reds and rice
But my favourite was always that roast chicken with lots of spice!
When At Her Sepulchre I Heard Her Ask
From her sepulchre she sent her calls
or was it from my darkest midnight walls.
Yet in those calls, mixed was love and hate
and many mysteries of angry Fate.
Some nights I swear, she danced in the house
or tipped toed, quiet like a mouse.
Yet heart forbade me chasing her away
or praying for early coming of day.
The last moment before dawn broke that seal
she would let me know just how cold death feels.
Icy hand touched me, as she said good-bye
I then heard, I love you until I die.
When at her sepulchre I heard her ask.
Will you please die soon, wear with me death's mask?
Robert J. Lindley, 5-14-2019
Dark Sonnet, ( When She Broke Death's Wall To Speak Of Her Love )
Inspired by reading yet again, Emily Dickinson's famous death poem,
titled- ""Because I could not stop for Death""...
Note-
sep·ul·cher
/'sep?lk?r/
noun
noun: sepulchre
1.
a small room or monument, cut in rock or built of stone, in which a dead person is laid or buried.
synonyms: tomb, vault, burial place, burial chamber, crypt, catacomb, mausoleum, sarcophagus, pyramid; More
verbLITERARY
verb: sepulchre
1.
lay or bury in or as if in a sepulcher.
"tomes are soon out of print and sepulchered in the dust of libraries.
(This poem is based on a movie I saw.)
It was tragic when two teenagers died.
They couldn't be together so they committed suicide.
They were cousins and that's why their parents kept them apart.
They decided to end it all because of their broken hearts.
The parents forbade their relationship because they were in love with each other.
They decided that they wanted to die because they couldn't be with one another.
Now their parents are all tore up inside.
They'll be in misery for the rest of their lives because of their kids suicides.
How marvelous that when we bleed,
To staunch a flow with little speed,
If not too deep, no bandaid need.
A miracle occurs indeed:
The platelet, wondrous little seed,
Exposed to air, sprouts like a weed,
Creates a mesh from here to there
It shortly spans, forms little hairs,
And fairly soon is everywhere.
And with our little mesh in place,
The blood cells can no longer race
Out of the wound with rapid pace.
Of course, you say, blood clots in air!
Sure, obvious, but to be fair,
The lungs don’t clot; that’s hard to square.
Perhaps it’s sentient, it knows
When traveling along the rows,
Like capillaries in your toes.
Yet somehow, it detects your harm
And raises up the fire alarm,
And to your wound, the platelets swarm.
In tiniest alveoli,
The blood, in contact with the sky,
If clotted here, could make you die.
But when with lungs, you must inhale,
The complex steps we’ll not detail
Do not transpire or you would fail
To even take another breath,
Or contemplate your last regrets;
Your life would quickly end in death.
So marvellous, so wondrous made!
Attention to great detail paid,
Allowed sometimes, elsewhere forbade.
No chance involved, you’ll not persuade;
Yet once again, it should be said
That we are fearful, wondrous made.
My divine strength, shield my dismay
Exult holly swiftness
Yield not to dull gloomy betray
Creed gapes at lavishness
Yield the boon, not the bad
Dark source upward forbade
Let not soul dwells in cad
Lift lush roots faith
My divine strength
In the sacred river.
I was born into polytheism,
Where Yemoja was the deity;
The goddess of river was the anchor
That held the village to life.
Her shrine was the sacred river
Where fortune was sought and recieved;
There fishing was forbade
Goddess’ heiresses could not be food.
The heiresses were beautiful
Appealing to eye,appealing to mouth,
But the beauty and taste of goddess
Were certainly beyond man’s hunt.
In their beauty they were sluggish
Their reverance made them so,
When you were Yemoja’s heiress
Who again shall you fear?
Then came the day of armageddon
The conflict of the titans
When guts of three children
Vowed to taste the godess’ flesh.
Two cousins and I had this agenda,
At the shadow of sun,we stole us to shrine;
With a basket we arrested five goddesses,
In a clay pot they became food.
As we were savouring the taste of the godess
A bone hung in my gut,I coughed to eject;
Mother came to help,cat let out of the bag:
Abomination,fishing in the sacred river.
Yemoja must be begged:
Twelve lashes of cudgel per child,
One hen,one cock ,one snail,
Six yards of white swiss velvet.
User’s name : Kayod5.
Contest : Gone fishin’.
Sponsor : Caleb Smith.