Best Forty Poems
Visited you today
as the sun set in the horizon…
the orange tinged carnations
were a perfect complement
for the skies
and for you…
orange and blue
always remind me of you
the winds softly blew
and I just sat there
staring at the grass,
well more at your name really…
hardly believing
what I am looking at,
that it’s been seven years
of missing you,
of just putting that reality
at the back of my mind…
But there are days,
such as today
which make me
confront that reality—
I see your smile,
remember your laughter
celebrate your spirit
and your love
Tears, I tell you I have
the most stubborn tears
maybe because they
make it so real for me?
I look around me
and look for that sign
Nope, not there…
I say a prayer
and speak to you
thankful for the life shared
I kiss the date that you were born
and walk away
my reflection on the car window
misty
One last look around,
and then I see it…
a cat, as we drive away…
Skies now streaked purple and pink
**My brother would have been 40 today, May 6…
I am a narcoleptic,
I sleep at any time,
no doubt I’ll drop off frequently
before I end this ………………………………rhyme.
It can be quite embarrassing,
between just me and you,
in the bank the other day
I dozed off in the queue.
As if that wasn’t bad enough
I let out quite a snore,
a real raucous rasper
that left my throat quite sore.
My constant napping problem
has somewhat skewed my fate;
destined to be a spinster,
I snooze on each first date.
There was one special fella
who took me out to dine,
my face was drawn into my plate
as I closed these eyes of mine.
He gave me money for the bill
and stifling a grin
he walked away and whispered
“You’ve something on your chin”
I think I’ll have to end now,
I’m sensing heavy blinks,
I cannot write another word
I need my forty ………..................... winks
** for Nikko's 'Your Snooze, You Choose' contest
This life is a play,
It is a long journey;
My dreams the pretty flowers,
Like wind blown sweet gems.
The sky- where they stay,
Words drifting, soaring like birds;
My MUSE inspires me, endless,
Forty words I wrote- today !
______________________________
January 21, 2016
Poetry/Verse/Forty Words- Today
Copyright Protected, ID 16-747-815-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym
For the contest, Forty Words
sponsor, Silent One
Third Place
I was a man, a cold blooded drunk, as they come.
I lived my whole life in a little house on my dad’s farm.
A broke hustler with a defunct bank account,
My career's future was always in doubt.
I married late, at the start of my forties.
It was not for love, I just wanted society to notice.
I did it to save myself from the embarrassment,
So she was not exactly for me heaven sent.
If I thought I was unhappy before, I was miserable now.
I my search for stability I had eloped with a cow.
I had to drink more, to feel like a man again.
Had to play deaf and mute, not to go insane.
As the years passed, the cow bore me a calf
By now I was weak and my income had reduced to half
The bottle was killing me, but it was Still my only friend.
To hold my hand and kiss me, everyday till the end.
The bottle was all i had, to wash away my sorrow
I had to have it, whether i should beg, steal or borrow
The meaning of life had now escaped my grasp.
All I did was sit, drink and watch time elapse.
Misery matured to sickness and still the years went by.
I shed no tears but within me there was a silent cry.
That of an old man whose whole life had been a lie
Pleasure is only found in the sweet wine a youngster sips.
For death hangs around the bed, every time an old man sleeps.
No amount of slumber nor sweet dreams can sooth,
When the heavy hand of time strikes away youth.
The dagger of illness and age was soon on my throat
I who called my wife "cow" was almost a slaughtered goat.
The reflection of my old face was unbearable on the mirror.
I looked haggard and horrible, i looked like a killer.
The cow and the calf left me to seek better pasture.
I was now all alone, expect for the bottle and my pastor
He visited often to preach me the holy word.
He warned me of hell, i assured him, that i have already had
He gave up, went his way as death came mine.
No regret, no redemption and no cloud nine
There was no glitter, there was no glory
I was bitter, and that was the end of my story.
Face all of your faults, failures and fears.
Once you do you'll have reason for cheers.
Rid yourself of handcuffs. You hold the key.
Take complete control of your life and see,
You have the courage to set yourself free.
*************************************
January 21, 2016 Forty Contest by Silent One
Absurd situations amuse me; they get written into poems.
Foolish generalizations about groups of people infuriate me;
they also get written into poems.
All Irish, all whites, all English, all red-heads, there is no all.
It makes not a whit of sense.
But the one thing that has gotten my goat faster than any other thing?
“All women over forty are dried up.” Yes, I know. It is crazy, but I heard it.
When I was forty-four, twenty-two years ago, and it still irritates me.
When I think of it, which is not often, I relish in the thought that the man who used it is incarcerated now, using all kinds of other silly sayings,
that probably get him whooped daily.
He loved to generalize groups of people. “All men in their twenties,
all Swedes, all people who wear overalls, all women who wear gloves…”
I soak myself in friendly waters, not worrying about this stuff usually.
Tonight I slathered my worn-out self in a luxurious lavender bath when I thought of it again.
It is weird how the most random stupid things will pop into your head, irritating you at odd times.
Forty years fly by, like fast frame film
Flickering pictures of life, it's joys and sorrows
Memories made over time, some sharp, some dim
Each scene defines us, for good or ill
All are part of who we are inside.
Written on 1/22/16
1
Have to be somewhere in 40 mins
Enough time to write at least one
Fortunately I’m not using and pens
Else I would not be close to done
Of course you see the form I write
One familiar yet still complicated
It should be easy I write every night
Why my poems are often post dated
Halfway there only three minutes gone
Can I write eleven of these in my time
Maybe but could I post them all as well
Not sure, but I wouldn’t even bet a dime
The last I didn’t rhyme of first and third
I will admit I normally will rhyme abab
But in my amount of time that’s absurd
I am trying to finish quickly as you see
2
I already finished one how about another
The next line already in my head of course
Now you are probably saying o brother
This guy is a distinct body member of a horse
Really it’s just practice and having a bit of fun
I am definitely bored at this very early hour
I’m also texting a friend here and think of pun
I’d tell her what I think, but she might be sour
The last of course was purely a joke my friend
No evil thoughts currently in my head Miss PD
I at present, do not have that emotion to lend
Or maybe it was serious the last stanza hehehe
This is so much fun, a great way to pass time
You should try it, if you would possibly dare
I have said time a million times in my rhyme
Take time reading them, go ahead and stare
The word of discovery of gold in '49 in Californy raced across the nation!
Why, it was said you could fill a bushel basket full with little botheration!
This appealed to a young feller in Boston town named Clancy Wiggins,
Who forthwith trailed the sun west to help himself to his share of diggin's!
In them days to make the trek you had a choice of travelin' by land or sea.
He chose the sea carin' not a whit for wagon trains or tanglin' with Cherokee!
Clancy left his mom and dad, Spike his dog and Sarah Jane his fiancee,
Fixin' to strike it rich, return safe and sound to marry-up with her one day!
In March of '49 he boarded the ship Barnacle and sailed from the Boston quay.
'Twas cold and icy, the sea was rough, he was sea-sick, not a cheerful day.
They tacked to and fro and three months later transited perilous Cape Horn!
Four months later they reached San Francisco, both man and ship badly worn!
Clancy bounded off the ship anxious to head fer them thar hills and streams.
He bought the necessaries needed to accomplish his far-fetched dreams.
Includin' shovels, boots, jeans and grub as well as a sassy mule named Fred,
Plus pots and pans and a tent to 'batch' in to lower costs and overhead.
Fer nigh on a year he panned, dug and sluiced searchin' fer that pot of gold,
Sufferin' claim jumpers, cheatin' partners, floods, rain, snow and cold!
Now and then he'd pan some dust or a nugget, but didn't amount to much;
What he found he quickly blew on gamblin' whiskey, wimmin and such!
His venture didn't 'pan out' like them lying Californy hucksters said it might.
He sold Fred and his belongin's since his future as a miner didn't look bright.
Clancy left Boston with 21 bucks and left Californy with 18 bucks in his jeans.
It might be said that he didn't arrive back in Boston as a man of means!
What Great Love, Our Memory Shall Remain
What is left when I am buried and dust
ancient grave upon which a white-stone rests
vanished shades of a future we did trust
as if that one great wave would never crest!
What great love or memory shall remain
when deepest of sleep, centuries accrue
will it matter wealth, worthless earthly gain
as paying of the pied piper comes due?
What truth, shall weigh in as one's repentance
when exposing light shines its judging gleams
will sad regrets reduce final sentence
or give power to mercy craving dreams?
Pray tell, can great sorrows yield forgiveness?
Birthing mercy a gift, divine kindness?
R.J. Lindley,
April 3rd, 1979
Sonnet
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fate Peeled Back Its Deepest Dark Curtain
Fate peeled back its deepest dark curtain
leaving nothing to chance, all certain
this year the bravest of heroes dies
golden streets flooded with angel cries.
What justice, one so young shall perish
midst of love of those he so cherish
roars not a harder, greater anguish
than living through and in pain languish
With hunger for life, for love's sweet touch
so cursed and sadly fated such
Fate, its massive powers so decreed
greatest hero on battlefield bleeds
steps into eternity, no seeds
grave now hidden by overgrown weeds!
Robert J. Lindley, 4-08-2019
Sonnet in nines.
Sonnet doubles..... a 40 year span
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At dawn, your fingers
still trace the curve of my spine
like they're reading braille~
each scar, each shift in the landscape,
a sentence you know by heart.
You laugh when I steal the blanket,
when my knees find the hollows
behind yours, an old map
drawn without compass or reason.
Our fights are old books now,
their spines cracked open
to the same dog-eared pages~
we know the lines by heart,
but recite them softer these days.
We are two trees grown
into each other’s bark,
gnarled and weathered-together,
no longer remembering
which rings belong to whom.
Some loves are built like this~
not with grand gestures,
but with the quiet tyranny
of your coffee cup left warming
on my nightstand,
the way you hum off-key
in the shower, still, after all these years,
and I pretend not to hear it,
and you pretend not to know.
Forty-three autumns,
and your hands smell like sawdust
and onions, and I wouldn’t trade
our slow unraveling for anything~
not even the taut, bright thread
we once were.
Her life begins at forty,
Shining as the sun so bright;
The beautiful bride years ago
Remains the same day and night.
Her young and pretty face
Is always an inspiration;
She brings hope and strength,
As well as joy and elation.
Everytime I hold her hand,
So soft, warm and tender;
She makes me feel real safe
During the rugged weather.
The sweet sound of her voice
Is refreshing to my ears;
She takes away the sorrow,
Saving me from falling tears.
Her heart, mind and soul
Say that she feels my care;
Even the billion stars above
Witness that love fills the air.
Her name Mai Leen is unique
But sounds in familiarity;
She was born to be my love,
Her life begins at forty.
49th & 50th States of the union
Hawaii and Alaska
10102014
My father gone these forty years,
my mother gone twenty, I remember...
the acrid smell of tobacco on my mother’s rough fingers,
as she sat, silently, in a predawn Texas coastal town,
my head in her lap, the short-wave radio crackling with static.
She strained to hear the chatter of shrimpers in the Gulf of Mexico,
yelling out to each other in Cajun French, Mexican Spanish, accented English.
She stroked my nine-year-old hair,
her middle-aged body aching, hungry, worried, sleepless.
Far from her roots -- stranded -- in this strange,
dry, totally foreign place.
Her imaginings of my father’s struggles
with the sea and its weathers filled her mind.
She knew, all the while, that even
if he were safe, we would still suffer
the poverty of the displaced and desperate,
whose minor, occasional comforts were only,
onshore, the cold beers and noisy camaraderie
of the others like him, like her...like us.
Three Forty Five Connection
Wednesday afternoon? I don’t remember
Technology---helper drives me crazy
Not a magic mirror you brought me
Yesterday afternoon? I don’t remember
Seeing each other, both were smiling
“Does he feel what I feel?”
“I guess he feels”
Or he..., “does she feel what I feel?”
“I guess she feels”
He brought funny staffs
And I brought big smile
Both were disturbed by two different eyes
God made him it green
And mine is black
I did stare and show thousand glitters in my eyes
For him to say, “that is my response for your gentle smile”
He did cute gestures far from distance,
The puppet show for me to smile.
“Do I need to laugh? Yes I smiled!”
He is the only one who made like that.
Couldn’t distinguish how far our gap
Because He molded him as doll
A doll that he made
Oh! Yes!
They were four!
Lucy and Johny, Sussy and Cassandra
The heart shape lips formed into a kiss
Transparent wall met from thousand miles
Color and culture, height and weight
Status and condition are not important
Who cares?
Distance is not significant?!
Crazy afternoon, 3:45, 5:45 time to say goodbye
Silent morning, 12:45 called him to rest
Both heart rebelled to turn off the...
Both were decided to give each number and...
So... Who first to utter? And he then...
“When do we see each other again?”
Hands’ clock killed the moment
Unstable condition...
What ah! Oh why?
Connection trapped by the world wide web problem.