Best Misdeeds Poems
A quote from "90 North" by Randall Jarrell:
"I see at last that all the knowledge
I wrung from darkness -- that the darkness flung me --
is worthless as ignorance: nothing comes from nothing,
The darkness from the darkness. Pain comes from the darkness.
And we call it wisdom. It is pain."
The first bike I ever owned --
when I was ten or eleven --
was a Christmas gift
from a friend. He was receiving a new one
and I was gifted with his old bike.
He had cleaned it up and brush painted it
with a nice coat of red paint.
It was the only gift I got that year,
one of my only gifts as a child.
I loved that bike:
it freed me to pedal around so
I could accompany my friend
as we rode anywhere in our tiny,
sandy, two-paved-road fishing town.
Before the bike, I ran alongside him.
I was quite accustomed to running everywhere,
especially in summer, barefoot, usually shirtless.
Most years from first grade
until we were about twelve,
we spent our time together,
at his house or in imaginary jungles
or on wild, indian-infested wagon train trails.
We defended those trails from apaches
intent on taking our scalps.
Sometimes, on pirate ships, we manned canons
or forced reluctant traitors and mutineers
to walk the plank for failures and misdeeds.
We were never bored, usually outdoors.
On jungle safaris we were frequently attacked
by ferocious lions and tigers and
often captured by cannibal head-hunters
who put us into large pots to cook us
while dancing all around and brandishing
their spears. They sang or chanted
amazing, invented language repetitive
verses overloaded with frequent "ughs'
and tongue-twisting nonsense phrases.
His mother served us gallons of Kool Aid,
gave us snacks we ate with relish.
With a child’s trusting nature,
I hoped this could never end –
I felt secure in friendship and
apparent acceptance by
my friend’s parents. Of course,
things did change.
But..........I did not.
Not for a long, long time.
REVISED OCTOBER 16, 2019
New Jersey’s cloven-hoofed devil
makes his way to the jetty
beneath the blanket of twinkling stars, anguish unabated
his appetency growing stronger each day
her song rose like mist upon salty tide
creating an irresistible allure
perhaps a mermaid so fair
can be the auspicious boon he badly needs
he calls to her, certain she will listen again
as she has done so many nights before
his soul’s torment she has learned to alleviate
patiently, she clings to one boulder, waiting
for she alone can absolve him of past misdeeds
she motions for him to draw near
“Kiss me now,” she begs,
“Before anything more can go awry.”
he moves toward her, still in atrocious devil form
holding fast to the rocks as a storm approaches
perhaps this time their magical kiss
will forever end his loneliness
October 14, 2019
For John Hamilton’s “Crazy A’s” Poetry Contest
The New Jersey Historical Society provided information about the New Jersey Devil and the mermaid he is said to connect with each night by the shore.
Find In Our Eternity, Sweet Love
Find in my Heart,
cast away misdeeds never to be embraced
Find in my heart,
a love of you that can never be erased
Find in this Soul,
a friend so gladly embracing all of you
Find in this soul,
true lover that forever loves all you do
Find in my Dreams,
golden paradise I built for your pleasure
Find in my dreams,
a deep love, gentle and without measure
Find in my Desires,
gentle touch, a touch of your pretty face
Find in my desires,
nights seeing you dressed up in black lace
Find in my Life,
a sworn oath to your deep love be true
Find in my life,
to each bright morn, our deep love renew
Find in our Eternity,
a golden palace made just for you and I
Find in our eternity,
united love, as great as a Heavenly sky
Robert J. Lindley, 02-03-2015
note: I failed to write my darling wife her daily poem yesterday(first time in ten years).
So she being playful demanded I write a double good one this fine morning.
I hope this effort will do. If not, then I am lost as this came directly from
my loving heart to her, my sweetest sunshine, my darling wife.
Three score and five and I am still alive
It's been a rocky road from there to here
For years my only goal was to survive
When each tomorrow was a new frontier
Of friends and foes that came into my sphere
The beauties and the beasts, my counterparts
Some saw me stumble, others saw me cheer
Those who were with me from the very start
And though I can not name them all by heart
Nor deeds nor misdeeds, that which came to be
The choices that I made, they had no part
If one should point a finger, point at me
Responsibility is mine alone
Someday it will be I, who must atone.
Daniel Turner
Spenserian sonnet
ABAB BCBC CDCD EE
Ashamed to avow my sins,
A burden mine alone to bear,
Broken beyond repair,
Baptized in gold to fill the cracks,
Restless nights, Velour gowns turning to sacks
No amount of gold brings relief,
Debased by lies and deceit,
Beg for forgiveness,
And you shall be forgiven,
He, who knows all, saw underneath my veneer,
A pain, a woe played for deaf ears,
I beseech my lord to forgive my misdeeds abhorred,
Let my midnight scribble turn into beautiful word.
Hold Those Tears Falling From Sullen Skies
Hold those tears falling from sullen skies
floods below, drown the sorrows of lost men.
Enough that mother earth hears thy sad cries
angelic sorrow, weep thou not in sin.
Remain thee stalwart, life may reverse tides
heaping on thee, joy in sweet future times.
Sun again shines, ending dark, stormy rides
thee shall picnic far off in fairer climes.
When mortal spirits race on foolish paths
happiness flows away as morning dew.
Embrace thee not, misdeeds bring evil wraths
walk faithful course, one that is truly new.
Live life, Fate has no power in Hope's lands.
For even Fate yields to angelic hands.
Robert J. Lindley, 10-28-2016
Sonnet
Ashen was the sky
That rejected hand of sunrise
Sullen was the heart
That stumbled in affection,
Incapable of lauding
Ruby blush of budding rose
And pink passions on horizon
Defying darkened woes.
In midst of a vibrant spring
Her garden blooms curled up
Amid hostile dry weather,
Teared-up, she sat alone
In pathos of indignation
Refusing to surrender
To demands of mendacity.
Crepuscular obscurity
Betrayed her evening
Fashioning night’s reverie
In trickery of nightmares,
As rancor of disillusionment
In ambivalent outrage
Recognized your stygian echoes.
Dead are her feelings now
Stilled in darkened cemetery
In graveyard of misdeeds,
Where spent emotions
Lamenting shattered love
Inscribe finality on tombstone
In epitaph of silent screams
Expounding your infidelity.
Oh, harbingers of cold hands,
Architects of pale shelter,
Glittering shiny metals
Disguising as genuine jewels,
Fear the cry of her angst
Howling soul forsaken
For she holds you in contempt
Of ancient Agape love
And monument to beloved--
The wondrous Taj Mahal.
November 15, 2019
Placed 1st: Pale shelter contest; Sponsor: John Hamilton
Placed 2nd: Strand special 11 by Brian Strand
A Slow Hand, Deep Thoughts And True Pen
Each time I write of my crashed hopes and dreams
mind falls into black-depths, sends cold shivers.
Tempted to falsely praise my misdeeds and schemes
I return to my vow, embracing realm of true givers.
Such leaning towards positive and the good
once was abhorrent, not in my prideful style.
When lightning bolts struck me as they should
I found my life was a massive rubbish pile.
With pen and paper I then sought truth to tell
of life, love, loss and darkness once embraced.
O' yes, I did not hide my parades in hell
nor innocent young life I once so disgraced.
Years flew by and age gave its usual aches
far too oft, I swore to give my poetry up.
Darkness whispered, take well deserved breaks
porch lounge sit, empty thy hot coffee cup.
Ah, but my muse, she heard and was not amused
up she bolted, screaming like a raving banshee.
Reminded me of my past, my life I had so abused
what a coward I would be if I now sought to flee.
Pen in hand and regretful of my wasted past
I write to send some light and truth boldly tell.
Praying some good comes, a few words may last
redeem myself from youthful days dancing in hell.
8-21-2017
( Seek to do good and watch as darkness flees )
three Angels laughed
at everday hardships
bathed in the light
of eternal Grace
misdeeds, distrusts
goodwill interrupted
all are welcome
at His Holy Place
when righteous paths
are twisted with lies
and darkness swallows
impossible hope
remember the words
an old warrior sang
as the gates of glory
came into sight
he held up three fingers
we asked him "why?"
he said he "I see Three"
we knew soon
he'd be free
three Angels laughed
at every hardships
bathed in the light
of eternal Grace
misdeeds, distrusts
goodwill interrupted
all are welcome
at His Holy Place
when righteous paths
are twisted with lies
and darkness swallows
impossible hope
remember the words
an old warrior sang
as the gates of glory
came into sight
he held up three fingers
we asked him "why?"
he said " I see Three"
we knew soon
he'd be free
lyric/song...all rights reserved
I stand tall on the windy mountain side.
Look down on mankind’s world
And snort in depreciated disgust.
Let death embrace me in its jugged jaws.
I'm not afraid, just tired.
This flagella of torrid life,
The gross garbage of man’s past,
The insignificance of the insecure future.
Time has no meaning.
A hallucinogenic rhythm
Of the quintessence of nothing.
Bring on the rumbling war drums,
Raise up the sharp guillotine's blade,
Let the cacophony begin,
Let me dance to no rhythm
Of preconceived dreams.
For since the beginning of time
When humans invented drawings
Of men killing men, and sang
Songs resonating of rape and lust,
Of slander, conquests and plunder.
The day will come when we must
Give an account of our misdeeds.
We turn our backs on good and evil,
We just don’t really care what happens
To unfortunate beings, our neighbors.
The writing is on the wall.
The seer chants: the end is near.
Yet something in me stirs.
I refuse to let go. For look
Not far away on this cold mountain
Is a rainbow, way up high,
As bluebirds happily fly on the other side
Of the shimmering bewitching hues,
A consequence of a prism of raindrops.
One day, all our dreams become reality.
Hope reigns again and all dreams come true.
Reflecting within silence of my thoughts
I feel the ills of world in its stygian form--
Its music devoid of the melodic sound
Echoing in humanity’s tenebrous bawl.
On my way I see summer’s rose gardens
And autumnal look of auburn elegance,
But mostly I encounter parched look of life
Like a river dry, in the grip of drought--
A depleted look of empty wine bottle,
Nothing left to offer, devoid of its buzz.
A hidden voice prompts, raising its voice,
Asking what the world would be like
If it could wipe all tears in mothers’ eyes,
And on troubled faces put million smiles
And feed the hungry, gripped in strife.
Peering now into grieved, disquieting lives
It takes me there to war-torn towns—
Pointing to a child wandering empty streets
Orphaned by someone else’s misdeeds
Amid nothingness of abandoned dreams;
Asking me angrily how does one restore
The flame that blazed in desolate child’s eyes
Before they brazenly killed her family…
Can you look in her eyes and explain why?
Can you dare say she’ll have a normal life?
I look for epiphany in epistle of almighty
But stumble in hindrance of the ordinary--
Wicked, narrow views of blatant primacy
Attempting to justify, but failing miserably.
I hear them trumpeting the world as it is
Sounding foolish in the world that could be.
June 23, 2020
Placed 1st: Reflections in silence poetry contest
Sponsor: Silent One
"Broken families beget culprits, and late remorse can never set things right"
~ By Poet.
Scenes reel back casting dark shadows,
Of the fated day I had to leave my home,
Handcuffed and guarded by cops on either side,
Despised by all as one so loathsome.
I had in me, then the heart of stone
All I could think of was my own gain.
Thoroughly swept by the rip - tide of illusion,
I had no regard for another's pain.
‘Drink life to the lees' was my credo,
So, I gambled to make a hoard of money.
Drugs and dopes gave me instant delight.
Initially my days were all too sunny.
But suddenly life derailed from its track
My wallet was like a leaking tank.
All its contents drained out in no time.
Gradually into dejection and despair, I sank.
Eliminated from life by my own misdeeds,
Weary of mind from stress and strife,
Hate grew and hardened within me as a rock.
Once I ripped my rival with a knife.
Convicted and caught red handed,
I ended up in this cheerless cell.
Within these dank forlorn walls,
I shrink like an oyster in its shell.
Everything here is dusty and rusty.
To get some peace as I attempt to sleep,
Marauding thoughts invade my brain.
Like a line of red ants, they listlessly creep.
In my ears fall the sobs of my loving mother,
Now in dumps, orphaned by her drunken husband,
I could never love my father, a true rascal
But I feel heartbroken as I think of my mother so abandoned
Sweetened dung is shoveled down
gluttonous throats with eager appetites for
alleged misdeeds skillfully spun
into a frenzy of sensationalized hype
by media-seasoned reporters.
.
Seduced by speculation and hearsay,
a jury of pseudo-intellectuals assembles
neatly with moral turpitude tied
smug and tight around rigid white collars
stained heavy with sweat and anticipation.
She stands alone as the eyes of
the court pierce through her appraising
her posture and expression while
the echo of charges being read dissipates
with the smell of type ink and old mahogany.
Fragments of truth embellished
for shock-value and dramatic effect
spill forth as vomit
from confessional mouths
reeking of rot and fermentation.
Vulturous prosecutors rise in fluid
motion squawking accusations in
expert execution of closing arguments,
pecking apart flesh, unconscionably
scattering the meaty bones of her defense.
The sins of a corrupted heart
turn desire to disease.
A master of deceptive tongue
cloaks his staunch misdeeds.
His twisted mind dreams darkly
of perversion and deceit,
just as the earth yields bitter fruit
if sown inferior seed.
So let his treacherous tears spill forth!
Let him beg impunity!
While celestial judges close their ears
and the Gods refuse his plea.
If we had no tomorrow,
We’d cherish more each day.
And from the past we’d borrow
the hope that fades away.
All the energy we’ve saved
for a lifetime filled with years
and the goals that we had craved
are now released with tears.
An introspective mood
reminds us where we’ve been.
And as our life’s reviewed,
catharsis can begin.
I prepare to feel the pain
that I caused friend and foe.
Understanding I will gain
from misdeeds long ago.
One final act – a plea
that my sins are forgiven,
and by a grand decree
God welcomes me in heaven.