Best Gravest Poems
What smug pseudomorph
inhabits my reflection,
adroitly mimicking my
every manner and expression,
mercilessly mocking me
with flawless simulation?
She is the great pretender;
a master counterfeiter;
a furtive opportunist;
a thieving imitator.
She is a soul-sucking demon
of the gravest degree;
a brazen parasite
feeding on health and ingeny,
pillaging my youth
with savage gleam and glee;
siphoning my precious hollow
of vitality.
Time ticks across my aging face
while our eyes lock in defiance,
and in the end, my spurious friend
will demand my full compliance.
So, with a twinkling eye I wink
at my mirrored facade,
acknowledging this fearsome foe
with a playful nod.
Respectfully reciprocal,
she gestures back to me in kind,
and we part as esteemed enemies,
to my last breath resigned.
Burnt Into Ash My Sad Soul Looks Far Back
In youth, my spirit was a climbing vine
dressed in green leaves upon white oak tree
Seeking light, I was walking a true line
in shade of path that was truly free
Storms weathered sheltering branches
bringing sun's hot beams upon my head
I sought more, took gravest of chances
of true love's blessing and being well fed
Once cast upon dirt and parched ground
my legs found needed strength to run
Racing winds sent that deceiving sound
soon, I forgot the heat of blazing sun
Burnt into ash my sad soul looks far back
Long ago, in tree's top, I was once on track
Robert J. Lindley, 7-14-1999
All you need is one word,
Erase just one word
from the minds of the people,
Rout out just one idea, one concept,
Eliminate 'Religion' from
the dictionary of mankind--
Man's stupendous and
gravest faux pas!
And, you'll see peace,
happiness, brotherhood;
There won't then be any infidels,
No gentiles, no heathens,
No pagans, no idol worshipers;
No racism, no hatred, no jihad,
No crusades, no inquisition,
No persecution, no repercussion.
No church, no mosque,
No temple, no synagogue,
No holy scriptures,
No words of God,
No places of pilgrimage,
No holy sites, no holy icons;
There won't be a pope or a priest,
Nor any saint or a swami,
No mullah, no imam,
No pundit or any rabbi.
No one to dupe you,
No one to lure you,
No Satan, no sin,
No guilty conscience,
No need for confession
No need for salvation;
And, what the hell,
There won't be any hell!
"I Can't Breathe" contest by Cyndi MacMillan
For one moment I thought
Moons stars and kingdoms,
Humbly yielded to the spell of your tongue;
For I would never miss such an honour
When my heart still dies in front.
From the gravest yard in my groans,
In those rainy eyes of autumn,
You stole into the fragrance of my desert red bloom;
Despite the venom in my features,
You killed the old beast in my gloom.
For one moment I thought
Flowers, bees, and dew drops
Had never been bleeding forever;
The honey have they made
Fell us in love like a feather.
For one moment I thought
We stumbl’d upon each other.
Christian Believer Hypocrisy
Kentucky clerk Kim Davis
Use of her religious belief is a mistake most gravest.
While denying same-sex marriage, she is cherry picking the bible
When she grants divorced persons marriage licenses, making her argument not very viable.
Jesus had several times said something about divorce and remarriage. Corinthians 7:10-11 especially applies to Kim Davies who has three divorces and four marriages. Not only is she a hypocrite, she is using religion to promulgate hate. Oh yes, I think Jesus said something about "loving your neighbor" that seems lost on christian conservatives.
I am just a beating heart
red from the start and damned with a dream
a spiking scream upon the Hope and Hell seam,
the world passes through me, revealing suffering and the heavenly,
I make a scene, as I put together my pump, thump and bump melody
a feather on fire for the fortune of creativity, for you, my vicious vitality,
Just a beating heart I am
bleached bright by the balm of calm kisses,
quickened by the kick of Passion's lick, thick on the senses,
I get fattened on fast lust, valves bulging, arteries divulging my truest wishes
drenched I am in cherry jam, as Love's current cracks the dam
the gush and rush, pooling plushly, a sweet span
learn to share I know I can,
Just a beating heart I am
wrenched by the warfare of savage offenses, demonic curses,
a pillar of flame in the face of Hate's hurricane, avenging abuses,
of lies and lynchings I have no use, with a Rebel beat I use no ruses,
for all I've done no sham excuses, totally loyal to my Divine Muses,
I have survived artful assassins and the gravest depressions, felt how anger bemuses,
of others' I have punctured and captured without desire to harm,
and I have been ruptured, fluttered and raptured by the sexiest charm,
I am a beating heart, like you,
wet and red, defying dread, blessed with you, Beauty full fed -
J.A.B.
We've all got a brain, you know
Though it cannot quite be seen
It stays imprisoned within our skulls
To be heard, it's very keen
It often finds it's way outdoors
Through our toothed facial channel.
It plans a detour, when our lenses spot
An approaching academic tunnel
But, what does a brain look like?
I often sit and ponder.
How does it feel within our skull?
How does it taste, I wonder!
So I went to ask my mama
"How does a brain look?"
She said, she would show it to me
But then, pulled out a book
She showed me all the diagrams
And read all the relevant text
Explained to me bit by bit
Assuming, I was interested
Cerebral cortex and cerebellum
And all the labelled lobes
Muscles movements and memories
A place for maths, a place for hopes
To her dismay, I spilled the beans,
"That's not quite what I wanted,
I intended to see a brain hands-on
But, thanks for what you imparted."
"I think I've quite understood
The functions this book explains",
I informed mama with a smile,
"My one question, but, remains"
"What is it, my dear one?
Let's work it through together"
"What does a brain taste like, mama?
I solemnly wonder"
Like a frozen deer in headlights,
She stared at me bewildered!
Her ears vented invisible steam
And in gravest tone, she whispered,
"How do you declare to know not
The taste of human brain?"
In countless portions, you chew my harns
Yet you dare to pose this claim?!"
Just recycled laptop number four.
They lived three years each – no less, no more.
Tossing the poor things into a bin
Feels like committing the gravest sin.
Seems like dumping your best-ever friend,
With whom a million hours you did spend,
And about a trillion words did send.
Now it meets ignominious end.
But what in Heaven is one to do:
Bury it with toy it liked to chew?
Now I've another, shiny and new.
Never mind; we get recycled too.
During a tour in this island nation,
a Maori guide was seeking a nomination.
Among our tour he sought out a spokesman,
to respond to the chief's words, as a small token.
"Sir, will you represent your touring tribe?"
"Yes," I responded, "for a very large bribe!"
I wanted to know what was required.
Giving a speech was nothing I desired.
"No. There's nothing to it at all.
Just go up there and stand up tall."
As we closed in on the Maori stage,
changes to instructions began to be made.
"Say some words when the chief's talk is done.
It's just a matter of having some fun."
"You must always show a serious face.
Or the chief will put you in your place."
"In your speech, you must show respect.
Or the gravest insult, the chief will suspect."
I was as nervous as one could be.
I seriously considered an option to flee.
"Don't worry too much," the Maori man said.
"I'll give you some cues to ease your dread."
The chief rambled on with his lengthy speech.
Then it was my turn, into the breach.
Nervously, I told the chief about my tribe.
"We're from a cruise ship, traveling far and wide."
I could think of nothing else, just wanted to be gone.
The guide then whispered, "Sing the chief a song."
Again, the Maori guide bent my ear,
"Have your tribe do a song near and dear."
'Take Me Out to the Ball Game' invaded my mind.
Could I get away with that this time?
I asked my tribe to all pitch in.
And we all sang loudly that sporting hymn.
Congratulations were given, a job well done.
Everyone cheered as they had much fun.
I was so glad that things worked out.
Would I do it again? Without a doubt!
Future's Promise Of Hope Stirs In Us All
Within epic sea of man's greatest quest,
amidst usual pains laid on each head-
Cometh dark trials of the severest test,
deep mourning crying for love ones now dead.
Future's promise of hope stirs in us all
with stronger courage to race in life's train.
Precious, sweetest memories we recall,
brilliantly stored within each clever brain.
Should we obey an eternal request
heed its solemn and very wise advice.
Trusting truth that good is always the best,
holding faith in our God will then suffice.
What of gravest doubts at the journey's end?
Pains of deceased family or best friend?
Robert J. Lindley, 1-31-2016
Syllables Per Line:
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:
Total # Words: 100
Note: Sonnet writing is my new therapy .
As I find it occupies my mind, brings joy and may even serve to help others! At least, thats my wish..
This one addresses doubts even in the midst of an acknowledged strong faith...
In this write, I challenged myself to write this hitting my "perfect 100 words" per sonnet goal.
Succeeded in my first draft.
As the sun fades o’er the water and birds chatter in the grove,
Two old, wrinkled, weary thinkers wander slowly by the cove.
Waves advancing and receding from the edges of the sea
Bring a bittersweet reminder of the things which failed to be.
Like the gloom above the water, they see history unfold,
Over men’s destinies, passions, unforgiving scepter hold.
As a cloud of heavy darkness o’er the limitless expanse,
Present, past, the very future are but pebbles in their hands.
To a bench in the old harbor they descend and take a seat,
Where their troubles they unburden every time they chance to meet.
One aged master stands in wonder at the beauty of the view,
While the other starts, with sadness, his life story to review:
“Hatred, envy, dread and fire, painful things I understand
And the soul’s most secret workings I can write out in the sand.
But, despite this precious knowledge and insight, I have a fetter
Which, insulting, reprimanding, I must carry to the letter.”
“For too long I’ve lived on Patmos isolated like a ghost
And by high decree commanded here to languish by the coast!
Once renowned and well respected, in Academies received,
All I have now is the shadow of the glories I have lived.”
“Bold discourses, fine attire, admiration from great men
Were all lost and I was given in exchange a prison den;
And, from all the wondrous splendor and richesse of Roman art,
I was taken to the gallows by a soldier in a cart.”
“Much as I had put my people and my honor above all,
Not a single word or action could at last prevent my fall,
For inside the Coliseum and the marble halls of Rome
A new cult and gravest danger uninvited found a home.”
“Surging waves of superstition from the Great Sea’s eastern banks
Have for many years infested all the army and its ranks.
Countless monks and shrewd fanatics with no passion for our culture
Have for three centuries labored to dethrone the Roman vulture.”
“From Hibernia to Egypt, from Hispania all egregious,
Many fools and witless beggars have in stupor joined their aegis.
Marble statues of the heroes, the art treasures of the world,
Were by angry hammers tortured and the stone in markets sold.”
[Continued in Part 2]
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
Why do they hate so?
They expound forgiveness
But malign half of humanity
It is the gravest sin
That they do not wish to know
The human race cannot exist
Without a mixture of men and women
Men crave priority
While the woman is meant to follow
Through ignorance and machismo
They delete themselves from posterity
The creed of embracing all that they preach
Forgotten when selecting the gods
That inhabit their one sided hierarchy
They court and woo controversy
Discriminating on a grand scale
The X chromosome
Must have only a reproductive role
Of no spiritual worth
A selfish message they send
To future generations
Today will be tomorrows past
Spitefulness will be all they have to tell
To a more liberal generation
Who may think ; what the hell!
The stain of no sisterly love
Does imperil
The hard fought for longevity of a church
That for some is the centre of society
Stifling female advancement
Is a wanton disregard for the maker
Who created all in his image
We are told that
He loves us all
No matter if we wear pants or skirts
The soul it seems has no sex
Side-lined for their femininity
Traduced for being as god created
Women are second class in a world
Where acceptance of the divine
Should outweigh gender dog fighting
A shaky foundation is today’s Christian ethos
The lack of understanding and
The ability to forgive
Has reduced respect for a beacon of society
A grievous and irrevocable manoeuvre
The male domination of the soul
Is but a wilful and audacious folly
The human race will not exist
If women are thought of as a bother
To look at the future of the church
Is to gaze into a cloudy ball
The smoke of destruction evident to all about
Except the Don Quixotes
Who stubbornly fight the inevitable
Bolstered by their own ill will
The health of the church
Is paramount for its survival
The acceptance of those who believe
Irrespective of their genes will extend
The work on earth of Christ above
Let us worship and serve god as one
"The Biggest Mistake"
Whomever in this life that has never done wrong,
walking with the Angels is where you belong!
If one did never an error commit,
occupying a throne is where you should sit!
Being only human, yes we all have faulted,
and for anyone who hasn't, you should be exalted!
To have a life of error free ways
would define precisely the very best of days!
Throughout this life whether brief or long
our actions are judged as right or wrong!
There is one mistake made that is gravest of all.
In comparison it does make the others seem small!
Realization of this is often to late
involving choice words one should have spate!
Remembering this bit of importance
requires never forgetting too that
"The Biggest Mistake" one can ever make
is to forget to say "I Love You!"
WTA-IV 4/1/2016
O curse of a century
O Calamity of a century,
Enough thieving of precious human life,
Keen we’re to see thy date of expiry.
As plague ye came, hoary thy history,
Unleashing a terror of gravest strife,
O thou curse of this chequered century.
Ye came as flue not any less deadly,
No withered virus, virulent its jibe,
Nor tamed, nowhere seen its life expiry.
Corona as now creepy and scary,
With mutants of many a varied type,
Messenger O of Death from mortuary,
Thought, year twenty had reigned more than plenty,
‘Las, what followed has dug in more than rife,
O Year Twenty-One, when’s thy expiry?
O Tragedy Smidgeon of great fury,
O Crowned Tsar, thy bite sharper than of knife,
Time's ripe to go, hasten but not slowly,
We’re keen to see thy back, better hurry.
________________________________________________
Villanelle |09.04.2021|
Topic: tragedy, calamity
Overpowering shadows of yesterday's demons
those influenced by toxic beliefs casting lots uncaring
Bond within faith to uphold the written word correctly
Craftily weaving those caught into error of dogma
Not vigilant against danger in an unwary manner
sentimetalism under physical acts of deep awareness
Unguarded to highlight this gravest deceit shows faceless
Kneeling beneath modernising facts
identifying with dismantling holy literature
this opens a window into the modern world to come
Lifting oneself above God
a foretaste of the anti Christ
leaves an arid taste to souls silenced from speech