Best Kind Soul Poems
To you who have
never received a love letter ~
Here is the one I write to you
so you may hold it in your hands
and carry it next to your heart.
You are a kind soul and have bestowed love,
you've seen beauty where there were clouds
~ to you I offer gentleness as a bouquet.
My thoughts are genuine and caring,
my heart goes out to you because
you deserve the gift of tenderness.
You deserve to be told daily
how beautiful you are inside out and
how you make this world a better place.
AP: 2nd place 2025
POTD May 20, 2025
Sir Poet, Hold True To Thy Gifts Long Given
Sir poet, why hast thy broken thy true pen?
Are not thy words intended to help and heal?
Pray thee, returneth to world of gentle men,
Let both thy mind and fevered blood softly spill!
Sir poet, why hast thy burned thy greatest writes?
Are not thy word-gifts bearing much needed fruits?
Pray thee, this sad, dark world sees thy ink-bright lights,
Begs thy kind soul return to poetic roots!
Sir poet, write deep to heal thy wounded heart
Embrace yet again, thy soul's truest call to arms
Find thy calling, begin an earnest restart,
Seek thee to help not this rash act that so harms.
Sir poet, hold true to thy gifts long given
Join again, poet's rewards in true liven'.
R.J. Lindley
Sonnet (11)
Jan. 20th 1990
Syllables Per Line: 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11
Total # Syllables: 154
Total # Words: 122
she roams cross the land her heart so bitter blue
leaving behind frosty morning dew
icy veil sadly unkept
laden woe upswept
she speechless
wept
left dreamless
numb regret windswept
no kind soul to intercept
cold bemoaning howling winds a clue
she roams cross the land her heart so bitter blue
AP: 2nd place 2020
Submitted on January 22, 2023 for contest WRITING CHALLENGE - ANDAREE sponsored by CONSTANCE LA FRANCE - RANKED 3rd
and July 7, 2019 for contest VERSE A FAVOURED THEME sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
Originally posted on May 1, 2018
A pure of heart authentic human
That is what I love about you
You speak with sincerity and honesty
Salt of the earth through and through
No airs and graces
No meanness in your soul
A genuine kind and loving being
Happy and whole!
Youth, Life, Love And Its Most Precious All
When young, life was full of joy and great thrills
I recall that was how happiness feels,
a new toy a trip to the nearby park
birds singing, magical flight of a stark.
Ice cream served on a sweltering hot day
out of classroom watching a new school play,
Majestic day fishing, feet in the pond
our favorite movies, we were so fond!
Growing up, tremendous change had to come
too oft heartache became the rule of thumb,
Love gave its kiss and even sorrow too
in its realm, sweetest of desserts were new.
With such beauty and deep satisfaction
sometimes came the opposite reaction
truest of our sweet love, was denied-rejected
in pain hurt, we felt our soul was neglected!
In living through life, its good* and its bad
if wise, we could find depth of what we had,
love and sorrow are both needed to grow
happiness found, oft sorrow comes in tow.
Treasures great and small are in youthful past
best we embrace it and not run too fast
Through it all family, love matters most
without that, time was no more than burnt toast!
Robert J. Lindley, 7-10-2018
Poet's Note: On July 10th, 1978, a most beautiful and very precious soul that I loved so very true and deeply died in a car crash. Her death almost completely destroyed me and this is the first time I have ever mustered up the courage to write a poem about it. She was its " good *", - its greatest beauty* at that time in my life, its most - precious all*....
For 40 long years, I could not find the courage to sit to write this tribute to the memory of her sweet and kind soul.
I have now found such, because "family and love matters most", and I am now truly blessed with such a God given gift....
My healthy arm will be your stay; And I will smooth your pain
away; And when I see you hang your head; It will be my turn
to watch your bed; And tears of sweet affection shed. "
Quote - from Ann Taylor's poem, My Mother
I will turn back the pages of sorrow,
to the sad May day my mother left me;
the details recalled each 'morn and 'morrow,
as her breath became gasps- I did not flee.
Then, stood by her coffin screaming inside,
tears falling, whispering- oh, why God why;
she had left me on Mother's Day that year,
to her cold headstone my thoughts often glide;
I set her free- so up, up she could fly,
turn off life support . . . I said with a tear !
Mother was my very best friend always,
loved her garden and country adventures;
mom, so calm even when roads were a maze,
so we would stop the car to take pictures.
Our home had a huge vast sunny garden,
since a child I helped mom with the flowers;
those days are some of my best memories,
nesting close by we had a Blue Martin;
we could linger there for - hours, hours and hours,
Mother's day . . . will be lost in reveries !
I never met a more joyful kind soul,
my sweet mom embraced every single day;
to others she had so much self-control,
mother was happy and gay everyday.
She made each birthday a celebration,
each Christmas Day . . . gifts, family and food;
I was mothers decoration helper,
think that I was often her frustration;
always to my poetry she was glued,
my mom was my rock, true north and shelter !
The Gift And Majesty Of Poetry
Once from deep pen and ink a poet born
sewing together life once sadly torn
from soft Heart, dearest Love and fragrant Breeze
within those spells cast among fairy trees
Imagining those chasms wide and deep
words of rainbow hues, great treasures to keep!
Once he that rhymes true, cast a magic spell
consulting a muse that gems did so tell
as earth spun about and its old soul wept
for all the wondrous beauty Nature kept
Writing as midnight, its toll did so strike
each closing verse became a golden spike!
Once willing spirit dared to give its all
singing forth from word kitchens down the hall
of brilliant rose gardens of pure delight
those so well hidden and those in plain sight
Seeking much more, based on poetry's art
its kind blessings sacrifices impart!
Once from deep pen and ink a poet born
sewing together life once sadly torn
from soft Heart, dearest Love and fragrant Breeze
within those spells cast among fairy trees
Imagining those chasms wide and deep
words of rainbow hues, great treasures to keep!
Robert J. Lindley, 7-19-2019
Rhyme, ( Why Poetry Blesses Us Mortals So )
Note: Written as a tribute to every poet that ever
splashed ink from pen and gifted us wonderfully
woven verses. That gave joy, delight, love, heart's
truth and fruits of a vivid intellect, kind soul and
gentle true-born spirit..
The 100 Year War
I rise
Mighty and strong
Armor plated and ready for battle
I shall behead the infidel
I shall conquer the evil doers
I am a warrior
Both great and bad
I am a warrior, and
I am sad
Tears fall upon my sword
I know not why
This great warrior why do I cry?
I can battle an army and rise the victor
Yet I can not rise out of me bed
I am sad and lethargic
I am weak in the knee
I am depressed
To much sadness in me
Lovers a plenty
Conquered lands and treasures
I have it all
Yet the sadness invades
The depths of me soul
I give my heart to all that I love
I feed the poor
From the spoils of my wars
Yet here I am, I think a kind soul
Burdened in darkness
Depression is my hole
My love I know this seems bizarre
You have all you wish, a rising star
A Black Knight with honors flying high
To you I say forgive me please
For battles you never shall see
I lie down
In our garden of roses
Thorns to make me feel more than I do
For the darkness robs us both
For me to feel you
Good by my love
Notes: Anyone for has suffered depression, knows that a 100 year war is nothing compared to battling depression.
With Presidents Day coming up this Monday, I submit my tribute to the president born Feb. 12, 1809:
Ode to My Hero: Dear Abe
At many things, Abe Lincoln was the best.
From boyhood to manhood, how he shone.
Foreordained to lead, dear Abe was blessed.
I picture him a farm lad poorly dressed -
kind soul and working so hard all alone.
Foreordained to lead, dear Abe was blessed.
Entertaining, Lincoln liked to jest.
Tall and strong was he when fully grown.
Foreordained to lead, dear Abe was blessed.
Great intellect and talents he possessed.
Many things he learned all on his own!
Foreordained to lead, dear Abe was blessed.
He led a nation facing great unrest,
for slavery dear Abe could not condone.
Foreordained to lead, dear Abe was blessed.
Feb. 15, 2020 for Sheri Fresonke Harper's
Ode To A President Or Politician Or Leader Past Or Present Poetry Contest
Fear Not, My Daggers Are Plunged And Never Thrown
When days are burnt offerings and nights jagged blades
I loose me those restraints, set words into parades.
Not a tender child, I have seen fire-burnt hearts
held a dying loved one, when her kind soul departs.
Yes, in ancient days, red-bloom fell off this dark rose
now when world fights me, I fight back- anything goes!
Tender vanities, consumed by darkened fires
entire forests are ash now, tho' thirst still inspires.
Fear not, my daggers are plunged and never thrown
that mark of courage, my bravery is well known.
Up close, so I see horror in their evil eyes
as their darkness understand what it is that dies!
When days are burnt offerings and nights jagged blades
I loose me those restraints, set words into parades.
Not a tender child, I saw fires burning hearts
held a dying loved one, when her kind soul departs.
Yes, in ancient days, red-bloom fell off this dark rose
now when world fights me, I fight back - anything goes!
Robert J . Lindley, 5-02-2018
Rhyme, ( Defiance and Soul)
Note- Poem edited, reworked from a 1975 original piece.
She was lovely, a beautiful kind soul, giving, loving, generous, but also apologetic for being alive.
Her light gray eyes danced and pranced, and her laugh was hearty when you got to know her.
Lots of people thought she should be invisible.
They wanted their garbage dumped, and their rooms vacuumed and cleaned silently.
Knowing this, she usually kept her head down, saying few words, afraid of being rebuffed.
I brought her a sandwich, and stayed late one afternoon, to get to know her.
She had sacrificed her whole life to help her drug-addicted mother, and now her drug-addicted sister.
All of her money went into her mother’s bills, her mother’s habits, and her sister’s four children.
Her sister was currently serving another sentence in Leavenworth prison. Pregnant, of course.
In a few months, my friend would get a call to come pick up the new baby from the prison.
What choice do I have? She asked me. We cannot have her babies raised by strangers.
She would drop off the baby with her drug-addicted mother who keeps the blinds closed all day,
And bemoans the fact that the other children there are hungry, and crabby and wake her up with their noise.
She did the best she could, enabling her mother and her sister, sometimes taking the babies to their well-check appointments and paying for them of course.
She gave everything she could to her family. A beautiful soul. I asked her what she had wanted to do as a child, what she dreamed about doing when she grew up.
I dreamed someone would take care of me, she said.
I wanted someone to save me, but they never came.
No, we would not want these babies raised by strangers.
This weary world awaits your gift;
Discern your goal in simple terms;
Amid the swirls, learnt to uplift,
Unfurl, unfold your secret germ.
This changing world needs your fine touch;
See that you twirl and make a splash;
Let your heart swirl with love so much
To change the world with your fine dash.
This troubled world seeks to feel joy;
Sense your being flood becoming;
Hurl a new swirl that soul frames ploy
With a bold fling as sparkles sing.
This crowded world needs each kind soul
To bring healing with a light heart;
So spread a swirl, a blessing whole,
A warm feeling you can impart.
This jaded world will sparkle now;
Begin and start with grace that flows,
Deploy and hurl your fine endow;
Start with your heart, let goodwill glow.
This mundane world is Eden lost,
Do all you can to understand;
Go beyond swirl to live wise cause:
Live your fond plan as best you can.
This crazy world needs love divine;
Let your life here bless and embrace
A timely twirl that lights and signs
A hearty cheer that shows fond grace.
Leon Enriquez
15 Apr 2014
Singapore
Who trusts me more than myself?
Who loves me more than myself?
No one, absolutely,no one amongst you all!
Except the one holding my life in his hands.
From far and near,he watches over me,
Whispering faithful love to my soul,
Revealing good hope in the time to come,
And so,I cling on to him.
He loves me more than I love myself;
And feels hurt whenever I hurt myself.
He keeps me safe and sound,
And has put a beautiful song in my heart.
What,to show my gratitude,can I do for him?
Life,dime; silver,gold; and all the unsaid;
They are as uncountable as the sands of the shore,
The wonderful doings of my maker!
I am told he desires a clean and respectful heart,
Repentant and kind soul,a spirit that cares;
He gives plenty for free; in fact, everything for free;
Yet,still,I'm not worthy to look him in the eyes.
I am told he hates sinners,and any bad thing is sin;
Stealing,lying,gossiping,idolatry,adultery; name them all.
So,I try to please him,as a child pleases the father
That he may bless me with life and not perishment.
At four,I didn't know how to talk to him,
I didn't know where he stayed except heaven,
But now, I know most of the things, so I pray,
And in prayer,I communicate with my God.
I pray for myself and for others,
Because out there,someone is praying for me;for you!
So,together,we share the blessings of prayer;
Remember! It's never late too late to join us,to talk to him.
Come,let us go before him,with humble souls,
To bow before him and worship him,
To tell it all to him; the burdens and success,
All that we need and desire, for he is all that we need!
Who,do you trust most around here?
Who do you love so dearly here?
I,love and have all my trust in my father and maker,
Think about this; Where,is your trust,hope and love?
When you are living on the street
depressed, lonely, hungry, and beat,
begging coins for something to eat;
you need more than a smile.
People scoff and offer small-change
labeling you as weird or strange,
treating you like you had the mange;
each day is a trial.
You pray someone will help you out;
a kind soul that won't mess about,
but wipe your tears and calm your doubt;
and go that extra mile.
Wisdom
Oh, blessed is the lucky one
Beloved by fellow men,
God’s blessings flow on that kind soul;
And happy are his kin.
May good fortune follow him
Who oft avoids the rut.
And has the strange and blessed trait.
Of keeping his mouth shut.