Best Little Poems
Sit with me.
Sit with me, ragged feral,
do not be afraid,
fight for no space uncertain,
you will be soothed, you will be safe,
you only need sit with me.
Walk with me.
Walk with me, stray mongrel,
do not remain unwanted,
contest no feeding rights,
you will be fed, you will be warm,
you only need walk with me.
Speak with me.
Speak with me, forgotten pariah,
do not languish discarded,
fear no further shame,
you will be heard, you will be seen,
you only need speak with me.
Lie with me.
Lie with me, downcast woman,
do not spiral into the abyss,
hold no omnipotent hurt,
you will be held, you will be loved,
you only need lie with me.
Stay with me.
Stay with me, you disaffected,
I will nurture the love
and banish the woe,
for an angel of succour told me
that a little kindness never hurts.
27th November 2018
Written for ‘A Little Kindness Never Hurts’ poetry contest,
Sponsored by Brenda Chiri
Floccinaucinihilipilification And Very Little Bread
( First of Three Poem Trilogy )
I
I've no problem with bardolatry fans
their barmecide and oft humorous rants.
Give me golden words not found in empty cans,
not bawbee's from those with sad, empty pants.
Truly I enjoy, bright golden attic wit,
creators of canorous verse that soars.
Those I may share bumbo and be a big hit
not with callithumpians that so sorely bores.
Nor do I fancy to become a bichon frise,
beholding to those with comminatory ways.
Finding some will cut you off at the knees
as a criticaster dariole for fugacious pay.
Floccinaucinihilipilification,
judged by Flews that chatter in morbid tune.
Give me saudade and a sandy beach vacation
with very little scrippage in the month of June.
Aye, no snollygoster soucouyant will do,
for my heart and soul begs sun-grazing songs.
Not a superbious umbriferous critic or two,
with the poet's soul this body truly belongs.
Seeking no uroboros legacy my ink doth stain
as a soulcatcher with a selkie as a muse.
Alone, in this rawky terrain my life will remain
for solitude and honor my poet's heart doth choose.
I've no problem with bardolatry fans
their barmecide and oft humorous rants.
Give me golden words not found in empty cans,
not bawbee's from those with sad, empty pants.
Truly I enjoy, bright golden attic wit,
creators of canorous verse that soars.
Those I may share bumbo and be a big hit,
not with callithumpians that so sorely bores.
Robert J. Lindley, 3-21-2018
Rhyme
Note:
Make of this what you will,
I give thus and surely shall send no bill
Yet in my poet's heart my soul oft grieves
for the Autumn colors not the decaying leaves
For the heart that yearns to write and truly give
and the mortal soul that writes to live
With inked symbols and a mind tired of toil
wading through worlds filled with pride and hidden turmoil
I write with purpose to give to others, not to take
tho' oft my poet's heart over burning coals some gladly rake.
I witness you fading away,
The winds blow frantically
They are against us, as all are
Little fire, rise in my cupped hands
Be it my life I shield from the elements so unfeeling?
Little fire, brighten as I feed you
This moisture receding from my pores must cease
Before I drown this diminishing beauty
I gasp,
Surprised at the howls and retorts of this icy tempest
Nature’s exhalations mean to end what must naturally end
My hands shake
Little fire—my life!
—I must keep you alive!
Grow against all odds
Against the screaming whirlpools of bluster
Against the torrential tears that mean to overcome you
Against the ashes that can only watch the desolation around you,
As you search for more fuel to masticate
My flesh is no treasure to me,
So lick me deep, my flame
Devour these hands that shield you
Rise hastily, as you burn
Ascending up my arms,
Lighting every goosebump, shriveling every hair
Rise till I am all aflame in this wilderness
Boil and evaporate every murderous tear—
The fluids of sorrow that so pulverize purpose
Eat through every sinew, and every tissue,
Every muscle and every bone that has grown
For this moment and this moment only
I give you every piece of me, little fire!
So that my spirit, finally free, shall rise to the heavens
Past the shrieking winds, preceding through the jeers of thunder
I give you my all, blessed fire!
So that these eyes may witness every storm die
And I may laugh at their futility!
Each little drop of rain I see
goes plink plink plink into the pond,
then disappears so easily
as if I’d waved a magic wand!
Inside the pond’s refreshment goes
each little drop of rain I see.
How calm this scene, for no wind blows;
all thoughts mundane from my mind flee.
A fragrance wafts enchantingly
to greet my nose with scent of pink!
Each little drop of rain I see
keeps falling falling plink plink plink.
Reflected on the water’s skin,
pink blossoms ripple joy to me
while in this moment I take in
each little drop of rain I see.
Written Aug. 12, 2016
Hope, A Little Remained
She walked the creaking floors of the rat-infested room,
trying to remember what tragedy had sent her to this shabby place.
Her heart felt the desperate pains, that lost love sends in aching waves,
praying her sleeping infant does not wake and cry out from its feverish thirst.
He paced the cold cell, languishing in deep misery, heart shattered,
each step an eternity echoing curses, a testament to his broken pride.
Although thousands of miles apart, he felt her loss, never-ending sorrows,
dawn would come, priest would take his last confession, yet Hope remained.
7-03-2018
For Silent One's, eight lines of fate, when you wonder if it is too late.
The child is a poet with innocent eyes
And a bumpity A-B-C rhyme,
A dancer whose feet with the rhythm of life
Move in jubilant one-two-three time.
The child is a doctor who heals with a kiss
And treats with a serum called smile,
A researcher who seeks out the meaning of life,
Then explains it with unflinching style.
The child is a chef who makes sandwich and Kool-Aid
And thinks it a royal repast,
A hero who battles the monsters and villains
And renders our land safe at last.
The child is a teacher, a sleuth, an explorer,
Controller of race car and ship,
Possessor of limitless spirit and mind
With holster and gun at the hip.
Reflections of children shine pure in the eyes
Of those who are watching them grow,
Remembering times when the sunrise meant journeys
To lands where adults cannot go.
Written in 1987
In the silence of sadness,
what will the winds bring tomorrow?
In the sadness of silence,
my soul sighs soft breaths of sorrow.
Where did those rainbows go,
reminiscing happier times?
Thunder brings further misery -
am I victim of my own crimes?
I must have betrayed the sun,
for it offers no sanctuary.
Moon refuses to shine in the darkness,
since when were you my adversary?
When there was love,
it never rained so violently.
Winds would come and go,
fading away so silently.
Mind drowns in a somber cesspit,
struggling to cope with your demons of pride.
I don't know what I've become,
since you left, I've died a little inside.
Simple Musing
Silent One
7 February 2019
Example for I died a little inside contest.
There once was a little snowflake
that was beautiful, cold and white
He was created up high within the clouds
during a storm one winters night
There were millions and millions of other flakes
but, no two that look alike
So, every snowflake received a name
and, his given name was Mike
Now as long as the wind was blowing hard
the more Mike hung around
But, it made him large and heavy
For, now he's heading towards the ground
There was Susan, Steven, Jimmy and Kyle
There was Sally, Kim and bill
They all came down together with Mike
as they landed on a sill
Of a cold and frosty window
on that stormy winters night
They gathered all together
as they waited for morning light
The sun then rose above the horizon
it's light...lit up every flake
The colors that came from all Mike's friends
a rainbow it did make
The beautiful snow lit morning
left Mike nowhere else to roam
But, he was happy to be there with all his friends
as he made that sill his home
Gary, you are my little soldier boy,
who died on Veteran's Day. ('83)
My sunny, golden-haired soldier boy,
that I still miss in every way.
You had just turned 13,
getting interested in girls.
When CF took you from me,
my heart, like a flag, unfurled.
You fought CF with every breath.
For 13 years you tried.
And four lung collapses later,
after each one, I said,
"Son, you will survive."
Oh, how I lied!
Now, no more hugs and kisses,
No more birthday wishes,
I watched you go
and please God know,
Heaven, receive my treasure.
Author Note: This poem was written in memory of my son, Gary,
who died of Cystic Fibrosis at 13, in 1983. I honor my soldier who so valiantly
fought his fight on the battlefield of a life threatening lung disease, which fills the lungs with sticky mucus and makes it difficult to breathe. With all CF children,
they struggle with every breath they take just to breathe! My son eventually
started to have lung collapses. He had four before the last one took his young life on Veteran's Day weekend in 1983..(Read my poem "A rainbow Glitters")
I wouldn't be a poet today, if not for my son. He was diagnoses at age three.
As I sat by his hospital bed crying, I reached into my purse for a tissue, but
instead, I pulled out a pen. I thought to myself, "Ok, God, I get the message.
You want me to write and not cry." So I wrote my first poem that night, "Not
MY Son!" Which eventually got published in Elizabeth Kubler Ross' Book "On Children and Death." Later, I wrote humorous poems to entertain my son, who
was often to sick to go to school. And I'm still writing my poems today.
A snowy owl sat on her nest
while tending to her brood;
her mate flew out upon a quest
to gather up their food.
An old grey wolf then soon appeared
who wandered in the dark.
To owl he said, “Don’t be afeared
my noise is just a bark.”
To him she said, “How sweet your face,
I’m sure you mean no harm,
and surely heart is full of grace;
no need to be alarmed.
Please sit and visit us a while;
I’ll share with you my time.”
To her he said, with gentle smile,
“Please share with me your rhymes.”
And so this friendly bond was sealed
between unlikely pair,
the old grey wolf, his friendship yield,
and wise young owl so fair.
And so the moral of this tale
I offer you today,
to you one day might be avail
when stranger comes your way…
“Don’t be alarmed of those unknown,
who fate, to you may send,
that wander in the night alone;
they might turn out a friend.”
January 29, 2019
Poem of the Day - January 31, 2019
A hardened and disciplined man drove to the grocery store lost in thought,
with setting of sun, the long day's work almost found it's end.
Hoisting his daughter to shoulder, he walked from the parking lot,
and barely noticed her hair smelled of shampoo and pool chlorine blend.
He searched for fresh loaf of bread, and pound of peaches,
careful to tally up each purchase with well-honed skill.
With family's dinner waiting, and worn wallet short on wages,
thinking, that tank of gas will have to wait, and hoped it will.
Looking up from the myriad of baby food jars in the next aisle,
slowly he became aware, as a dense fog clears on a whim.
Now noticed a woman with mouth played in a strange smile,
her instinctive gaze fixed on something behind him.
He turned to see what elicited her quizzical beam,
and his heart melted at the sight in the shopping cart.
A straw haired helper, fast asleep, slumped over in a girl's charmed dream,
her little head now resting against his arm.
The day's worries quickly fled, tough exterior, now stripped senseless,
life's hard lesson and true measure of a man's love now shown.
Left wondering how a resting child could leave one so defenseless,
and that, which a man holds important..,could be so wrong.
Epilogue
I live the rest of my days wiser and more carefree.
For my darling little one, it wasn't I that carried you,
but you that carried me.
Little wishes on great big stars.
Daughter, I make a wishes for you.
Keep on growing and keep on smiling.
And I'll keep loving all that you do.
Little dreamers wishing big things.
The world is your stage to display.
You can sing and you can dance.
Enjoy all that comes your way.
Little hopes in a great big world.
Nothing can stop your free spirit.
Make some noise, play a beat.
It's beautiful music when I hear it.
Little kisses from my now big girl,
You're growing up so fast it seems.
Pretty soon you'll leave the nest
And fly after all of your dreams.
Little girl I love you,
And I love you even more.
Because I made a wish once,
And you're what I wished for.
Written April 09, 2014
liquid little stones
skipping and skittering free
on shared umbrellas
A windswept bluebell I am
even though the sun is high in the sky
The wind ruffled the hair
my skin would slowly freeze like mosaic
Want to paint the picture with beautiful thoughts
but difficult to find the rainbow
Tears, so many tears
my heart ripped apart
The pain took a different form
Your sobbing lungs needed a new life
Lung cancer with spread to the lymphs
You were so weak, like a bluebell in the wind
Suddenly it is not a matter of course to get old anymore
Death did not come abruptly or surprisingly
But it was quite overwhelming when it became a reality
Tears, so many tears
my heart ripped apart
I died a little inside
although I will always carry you in my heart
The blue lights are gone now
I have chosen a place near the coast
You loved this place
No exhaust smell or busy people
In the natural cycle your ashes will be spread in the wind
While the birds flying towards the horizon
Nothing can fill the emptiness I feel
From life to death, the road is so short
Rest in peace, I loved you dearly
Tears, so many tears
my heart ripped apart
A simple bluebell is left alone
The clock chimes inaudibly
08.02.2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
I died a little inside : Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
1st place in the contest
Poem of the Day 09.02.219
I’m at my happiest
When my heart overflows
With kindness and gentle compassion
And feel the energy of the universe
Radiating from my heart
I feel my best when I resonate
With the harmony around me
Finding ways to enhance
The tapestry of mankind’s brotherhood
At times by gargantuan efforts
At times by seemingly trivial deeds
Always on the lookout to help and contribute
To make this world a better place
There is no end to the ways
I can have a significant impact
Though there's no way I'll never know
The ripple effect of my kindness
I’m at my happiest
When I recognize the beauty of humanity
And feel we are meshed as one solid community
Because I fit in and it is my honor and privilege to
Bestow kindness every hour every day of my life
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on November 25, 2018 for contest A LITTLE KINDNESS NEVER HURTS sponsored by BRENDA CHIRI - RANKED 1ST