Best Herds Poems
Remember that night, one of so many of course
When the waitress asked if we were on our first date
We’d talked for three hours till our voices were hoarse
The laughter we shared no one could create
It must have been the joy in our hearts she saw
For eighteen years there’d been no one who meant more
Never for a moment did our love withdraw
I joked and said it was the cologne you wore
Impotence had rendered you last in some eyes
But there was no man who made me happier
My affection for you never compromised
Of my self-worth, you were the certifier
The last time I saw your 95-pound frame
As you lay smiling in the hospice bed
My adoration I just could not proclaim
Couldn’t look back, still wanted to look ahead
My head on your hand, tears formed a puddle
So much in my heart, but at a loss for words
I waited for your angel as we cuddled
Finally they arrived, not one, they flew in herds
The spirit of contentment shone o’er your face
I swear to this day I saw your spirit rise
You faced your death with such dignity and grace
I could not bring myself to utter goodbyes
But now as I pray, the words finally come
“God blessed me with a special friend always true
And now as I hear heaven’s harps ever strum
I know there’ll never be another like you”
*For my dear friend Chris who died on Christmas Day 2005
Entry for Gareth's "Last Words to a Loved One" Contest
Categories:
herds, devotionwords, day, friend, me,
Form:
Quatrain
howling black wolves complain to new moon,
of devastation wrought by creatures!
different from rest in size and shape,
walk on two legs, strange hairless features!
in packs behind rigid barriers,
cunning to modulate world to needs,
the rivers run dark under their feet,
trees have perished to nourish their seeds!
clouds now migrate away to the south,
it thunders and rains where once desert,
vast oceans expand as glaciers melt,
cold death now haunts where once birds would nest.
hunt us down, say are born of devil,
spare not a thought for nature’s reasons,
we hunt when hungry, the weak and lame,
but they kill for game in all seasons!
fire horrors ravage homely woods,
cuckoo laments morning with its lore,
big herds that walked now dress their rooms,
world is wounded, earth is bleeding sore!
Horror! Horror! we cry to the moon,
our laments tear down the dark silence,
ruled by these creatures with hearts of stone,
they are destructive sans repentance!
we fear not ghosts that lurk in the dark,
nor dripping blood from a sharpened steel,
greater horror lurks where these things haunt,
a pestilence that rocks nature’s keel!
Written 3/May/2021
Funom Makama sponsored
Horror poetry contest
9 syllables each line-
lines2 and 4 rhyme in all quatrains!
POTD 05/05/2021
Categories:
herds, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
I dreamt of blue birds
and buzzing bumble bees.
I roamed with the bison herds,
prayed with mantis on our knees,
and butterflies in the breeze.
I greeted the cheery chickadees,
dragonflies, and snowy owls.
I marveled at graceful manatees.
raucous sounds of guinea fowls,
and warblers’ velvet vowels.
I raved at ravens
dancing on a fertile field.
Mice sought havens,
safe shelters that red ants build
in hopes from spiders to shield.
I spotted rain-drenched
autumn leaves in tapestries,
their beauty strangely entrenched.
Purple hues imbued in varying degrees,
of gladiolas and sweet peas.
So many perfect pleasures,
many another than these.
All of God’s treasures,
created with love to please,
arranged to calm my world with ease.
Categories:
herds, animal, bird, dream, environment,
Form:
Rhyme
And as the hills yonder
Turned red from sunset rays
As darkness engulfed the valley
And the sweet sounds of birds
Rent the cool evening air
Our cows and sheep and goats
Hurried down the footpath
As though they were late
To a gathering of clans
Or to one of their own
And we the happy herds' boys
Turned our ravenous thoughts
To bananas yams and milk
And all available munch-able stuff
To calm our restless tummies
And as the evening metamorphosed into night
And the stars of the sky reclaimed their might
We the famished children of the valleys
Approached the fireside with widening eyes
As the roughshod soldiers laid claim to all
And shot in the air to frighten us all.
And so we watched with pangs of hunger
Training our wrath and rancor and dismay
To other sons and daughters of Africa
Who for reasons best known to them
Or known only to their heartless handlers
Proclaimed themselves ‘defenders of our freedom.’
Voila! Children of the valleys of Africa
And of the cities and slums of Africa
You who gather in the evening breeze
After torrid days in the fields and streets
Only to return to a darkening sky
Sans food sans wear sans light. Voila!
Categories:
herds, africa, children, poverty,
Form:
Free verse
Whether poets, showmen or philosophers,
Or mere cowboys who follow herds—
They all want to leave behind a lasting mark—
More than frail paper etched with words.
But the cold, hard truth still lies in the doing
And all but a blessed few will fail—
But on we go like bison over the cliff—
Hoping our wings sprout and we sail.
And like restless sleepwalkers we do wander
From one thing and then to the next—
Till we find what it is that will then save us
To put life in proper context.
So on we scribble and strive for the right phrase—
Catch meaning and life in birds—
Put emotions and feelings we briefly hold
On this frail paper etched with words.
Categories:
herds, art, cowboy-western, on writing
Form:
Rhyme
Boated through the tantalizing Kerala backwater
in a pleasant summer morning;
Coconut groves were adorning
our way and perky fishes were chased by river otters
Cacophony of the swaying lofty coconut trees
and the nearby evergreen plants
produced a mesmerizing chant
that certainly consoled the chaotic minds and appease
Majestic banyan tree with its spiraled pillar branches
enthralled the endemic birds
and the migrating animal herds
on the river bank, renovated the place into the ranch
Suddenly the boat entered into the hollow way
where tangled trees made archways,
and fallen flowers filled our pathways
welcomed us, it was such an unforgettable day
Reflections of the slender palm trees on the waters,
painted a flawless picturesque picture
with the kaleidoscope of colors and mixtures
Which was untapped only in the perpetual back waters
Coots and cormorants swiftly plunged into water
When they heard the sound of the boat
Tranquility of the place calmed the hysteria
and it led to the apocalypse of worldly emotions
Sep-9-2017
POTD on Sep 11 2017
I was so happy and I felt so blessed as I received this honour on the death anniversary of my favorite poet Mahakavi Bharathiyar.
Categories:
herds, beautiful, nature,
Form:
Free verse
I've lived where orange blossoms fall
and flutter on the streets of Spain.
In Germany I've seen the wall,
and snow-capped mountains from the train.
I've known Bahamas' sunlight gleam
where palm trees shift in sultry air,
but Africa, exotic dream—
imagination takes me there.
I see the restless plains that stretch
to meet the blue, forever sky,
alive with teeming herds that sketch
a savage scene in my mind's eye.
I picture people, tall and proud,
whose ancestors have braved this land,
and tamed a wilderness, unbowed
by flooding, droughts, and burning sand.
And in this dream, white jasmine sends
a honeyed scent that hangs and bathes
the senses where the blue grass bends
to spice the air in pungent swathes.
At sunset, coral streamers drape
across horizon's purple bars,
and nighttime spreads its velvet cape,
bejeweled with half a billion stars.
I live in North America—
so cool and tame everything seems!
I've never been to Africa,
but I have seen it in my dreams.
Categories:
herds, africa, travel,
Form:
Rhyme
Part One of Two
Mary Elizabeth Frye Dedication Poems, Seventh Poet Honored
Part One
(1.)
Graveyard Visit, Seeing Death's Saddest Truth
Walking rows of silent tombstones that litter in my head
I see far more than just faces of buried ancient dead
I see epic battles some lost and long journeys some made
I see long lines trekking through hell's gate as if on parade!
Lo! Great and dooming are the vain vanities of mankind
Blindness, racing ahead not seen they are falling behind
Appetites for darkness and immense greed, they think are needs
They indulge lusts, oft by making innocent humans bleed!
Alas! Dark lust, evil culprit, deeply woven within
Tempting powers grown massively by rewards of past sins
As these ghosts cry out their sorrowful and tragic tales
I hear in not too distant background, hell's loud ringing bells!
As I bid one and all a merry and thoughtful goodbye
Into one great crowd they gathered, all with tearful sad eyes!
Robert J. Lindley, 1-11-2019
Sonnet, ( Man, As The Sad And Fallen Creature)
Dedicated to Mary Elizabeth Frye, poet dedication series.
Mary Elizabeth Frye dedication poem
(2.)
Those Deep Moaning About Life's Many Curses, Its Hardest Hits
Those that beg for Herculean body and Socratic mind
I pray reading these verses you think them not too, too unkind
Nothing bad about imagination and cherished desires
Such is mighty fuel that kindles ambition's hottest fires!
Those caring about not being fleet of foot and stout of heart
Or beautiful in appearance and raving as genius smart
Fear not, for such gifts of flesh are but foolish fantasy gold
Too oft disappearing when your human container grows old!
Those deep moaning about life's many curses, its hardest hits
Wading in its nasty cesspools, and in its blackest of pits
Be of good cheer, if your blind soul can accept these wizened words
Open your eyes, sing about love, stop tramping along in herds.
So you got cherished Herculean body, Socratic mind
Have fun stumbling through miserable life while still stone-cold blind!
Robert J. Lindley, 2-19-2019
Sonnet in Fifteen, ( Truth About Man As A Fallen creature)
dedicated to Mary Elizabeth Fyre, poets dedication series.
Syllables Per Line: 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15
Total # Syllables: 210
Total # # Words: 142
Categories:
herds, creation, death, dedication, deep,
Form:
Sonnet
Who am I and what am I to say?,
All I've got to do is play,
Along in a game I don't understand,
Make people come to my land,
A deal that you don't think about,
Something thats going to start out,
A trend that will last for years,
Making people come to tears,
Arguing points that don't get across,
Having to deal with a great loss,
This is my life and these are my words,
Circling around like I'm in herds,
Playing games with my head,
Maybe I would be better off dead.
Categories:
herds, angst, confusion, death, life,
Form:
Rhyme
It's easier to tear things down
than it is to build
Fewer every day have love
many more are killed
Some would rather look away
than to lend a hand
when a needy person's day
doesn't go as planned
Ripping someone else apart
by word of mouth or pen
is the latest social craze
done time and time again
You just insulted someone's mom
with fingertips on keys
but never knew she's suffering
a horrible disease
That young girl who is overweight
your comments cut her deep
and you all had a hearty laugh
like herds of rabid sheep
Some who came across your path
had nowhere else to go
but hatred and sarcastic wit
were all you cared to show
People aren't obstacles
to roughly push aside
humanity is family
from which one cannot hide
Strangers might be future friends
whose names you don't yet know
just open up your hearts and minds
and see where life will go
I shouldn't have to say these things
they should be understood
but human beings typically
choose evil over good
Spread kindness everywhere you go
so little is the cost
for it could easily be you
whose life is nearly lost
Let someone lean upon you
if they find it hard to cope
you never know when you'll be called
to be someone's last hope
Categories:
herds, love, pain, perspective, wisdom,
Form:
Rhyme
O' Man, Thou Art In Arrogance Oft Lost
Within earth's vast herds mysteries abound
as man walks in shadows that prance and play.
Life is an ocean that swirls and confounds
such odd, vain and weak creatures made of clay!
What of miracles, for fear we do not tell,
for shame that such will never be believed.
Nights when one just knows he has been in Hell
and was only, by dawn's bright lights relieved!
Silent prayers uttered in agonized mind,
with blessed answers that arrive to heal.
Of lost treasures we thought to never find
returned by way of, things that dreams reveal?
O' man, thou art in arrogance oft lost.
Blindly stabbing that darkness at great cost!
Robert Lindley,
sonnet-
1985
Categories:
herds, appreciation, art, humanity,
Form:
Sonnet
Sometimes, we expect
the sun to rise and smile,
through hazy hellish clouds
carrying vindictive
verdicts of venomous vultures,
surmising hues of
ink to pierce through
pores of this bleeding pen,
imagining rainbows
will unravel colors,
in violent violets and
intricate indigo streaks,
refusing to walk around
streets with
hailing stones of storms.
But what if the skies
unfold mysteries of yesterday,
would tales of truth need
translated transcripts?
oblivious to the weight
of every thorn I sustain
within these words I weave.
Whilst daggers
on my spine
still remain rusted with
runes of revelations,
as I’ve felt claws sharper
than twisted tongues,
so those feculent fingers
pointing at abstracts
across fields of
fruitful flowers,
adorned with
smokey quartz
jewels of life,
is nothing but
mere artless blades,
that burn bridges
from blunt blindness.
Let the bare brokenness
of your rags be
the conqueror of your
own demise,
I’ve seen too many
ghosts turn into
steel hearted devils with
tasteless plans.
Yet these cracks
won’t grow wider
from misconstrued
conclusions,
from barely noticeable
turbulence within a
psychological warfare.
I am more than your
definition of sharpened
needles and knives,
as I’ve been nurtured
in fearless forests with
herds of faceless wolves,
this warrior spirit
is unmovable,
by a million mountains
engraved with
lifeless blood and
bones of your kind,
so take your little
quilt of cowardly questions,
wrap them around your
fragile little ego,
perhaps, sleep too
can reveal
rosier dreams
in your doomed
nights filled with terrors,
for I refuse to
drink from chalices
of emptiness
concocted from
bitter ingredients.
Categories:
herds, emotions,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Walking all alone through the bleak abyss
The ravens watching from silhouette trees
Inspiration dead, writing I did miss
A dark event put me down on my knees.
In the distance I saw gold rays of light
I hoped and prayed that it was my escape
At forest edge 'twas the sun shining bright
And down below a heavenly landscape.
At the valley below the river flows
Deer herds sip water from clear flowing streams
It's heaven on earth where nobody knows
A Shangri La only found in your dreams.
Lucky was I the right path I did choose
By rivers edge stood my beautiful muse.
Written on 15th November 2019
When there is no inspiration poetry contest
Sponsored by Silent One.
Categories:
herds, depression, dream, journey, muse,
Form:
Sonnet
If I ruled the world I'd paint it mostly blue,
Spiders would build the finest webs - I'd decree the morning dew,
Auroras would shimmer above the poles, their colors ringing true,
Those would follow my first thought, "Good grief! What will I do?"
Puppies would be off to run and romp, kittens added to the chases,
Mountains, deserts and oceans - set down in law as special places,
The red kite's ride, the jaguar's stride, moon and trees within their races,
The sable's fur, the cheetah's purr, we'd acknowledge such given graces,
And I'd praise the honored beauty in elderly people's faces.
Wind would dance across the sand, long waves would come ashore,
Unfair rebukes and tactical nukes - do we need this stuff anymore?
Graceful herds would move around the Serengeti plain,
I'd reach across the ocean, try to lessen my good friend's pain.
I'd find the key to hardened hearts,
To quell our many tribal wars,
Diplomatic smarts and peaceful arts,
Those things I'd underscore.
No more homeless, evermore - from that they would be free,
(I'd live with the skepticism that we could ever all agree.)
I'd want to know all the poets, every poet that can be,
To never miss the poetry, it's in every soul, you see.
24 February 2017
Categories:
herds, humanity, love, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
All round the ring of Kerry’s highways, people point and cry
It’s 4 o’clock on the very dot and Mick’s rig is passing by,
It has glistening sheens of yellow, with cinnabar spots in red
Rich lozenges of orange complete the livery, as this butterfly forges ahead!
She’s kissing those dew damp breezes, on a morn like an Irish dream
As the sun’s rays like golden spokes
Steal silently; through oaks of emerald green.
lighting up a meadow’s buttercups, that border a hillside stream.
She hauls her load of butter, fresh from the herds of ‘Kerry’s spreads’
To sweeten the taste of a million slices, of European bread!
She’s making good time this morning in passing the various towns,
By 9 am she makes Letterkenny, to lay her cargo down.
Mick checks his trusty wristwatch
He needs to be back in Clonakilty; to make a special call
For by, begosh and begorrah ‘tis Father’s Day ‘n all. and
His sweet Molly will be waiting there, by an ancient rock built wall!
So he spins the painted lady round, to take the south west route,
Tooting to folks he recognises; as along that road he shoots.
At 1 o’clock he’s made it back, and parks the painted lady up
He wanders up the dusty track; just a Dad in working gear
Straightening an aching back, now his destination’s near
He searches the milling kids all around, many colours their faces show
And then he picks out his Molly. as those raven curls she throws!
She runs to greet him at his call, raising her face to be kissed
And she had chosen a painted lady, sure.. He felt how he had been missed!
He swings Molly up on high and they head back to the farm
She showers him with sweet butterfly kisses
As rabbles of the creatures unravel, in clouds and colours of charm!
NB the Painted Lady is an Irish species of Butterfly
Categories:
herds, beautiful, butterfly,
Form:
Rhyme