Best Moons Poems
My Beloved,
It doesn't matter
If it is I who comes to you
or if its you who comes to me
All that matters
is to be with you
All that matters
Is to love me true
Cause I' ve loved moons
that did not glow, before
And I loved stars
that did not shine
I drew two hearts
on sun-kissed sands
One heart was washed-out
by the night ~tide.
I lit a candle in silent winds
but has been smothered
by fog and mist
A dreadful sea-foam
stole my pearled sails
and with it
each endearing bliss
My Beloved,
I do know the trade of roses
for the crimson that thorns bleed
I embraced the pang of absence
when warmed eyes were not to meet
My Beloved,
It doesn't matter
If it is I who comes to you
Or if its you who comes to me
All that matters
is to always find each other
Cause our love is meant to be.
QUOTE:
“The moon is a loyal companion.
It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast,
knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever
just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself.
Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light.
The moon understands what it means to be human.
Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.”
? Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Walk I, Naked Under Pallid New Moons
I that crieth with dawn's falling dew
Accuser of this dark world and its hate
Walk I, naked under pallid new moons
With lingering hunger, nothing can sate
As warrior, as a lover now stone-blind
A dying soul, bleeding with ink and pen
Dreams, myself in imaginative realms
Away from this world full of darkest sin
This heart and soul, each crying out for more
And knowing Time will soon end this decay
A ship never finding a safe harbor
A ghost of dead dreams, now morbidly gray
Pay heed, if thy soul seeketh Love's pure kiss....
For tis' Light and Truth that bringeth sweet bliss....
Robert J. Lindley, 1-15-2020
Sonnet, ( As Whispering Wind Swirls About, To Speak )
( A pen allowed to such deep truth sing )
Note:
Hold tight the moments that life gives
the ecstasy of remembrances of sweet romance
for day comes in which more in past one lives
the more one sees that most of life is long-lost chance....
Classical infusion, Beethoven’s “ode to joy”
playing on blaring audiophile speakers annoy
purposely looped to destroy vagrants with electronic music
blends of subversive elements and anxious acoustic
the solution to loitering the bodega doo dropping
spicy Shiitake broth smelling pissy store front,
jaded daily stunt, at midnight wino corks popping
abruptly segway into a film from one music scene
to a melting hallway, a lipstick alley with animate occupants
disconnected unmoored, appearing eerie and dormant
fluorescent lights unleashing a hum buzz in duress
hissing sizzling hornets’ nest of unsettling unrest
illogical levels of unease, an iniquitous den
such madcap absurdity is beyond my ken
not a shack, mall, nor a Holiday Inn,
a queasy Quasi-Moto mood which lies within
backrooms filled in with discarded filets
of fishy maceral that have no place,
frolicking pixella's in a glossy abyss of liminal space
plump puce brushed lips affixed
swollen browns and purple mixed
deep maroon and dusky rose,
make-up art is what they pose
I wish I may I wish away what is unreal with blinky eyes
I pray not to awaken one more inky surreal surprise
Crescent shaped moon portions mounted in pseudo walls
mounted upon the glare in unpleasing patterned halls
side by side quagmired half discs dawning a contorted face
in a half dazed-half-moon crest loon’s invisible phase
not unconscious but in some in-between state
bored while in transition and abandoned as they await
whimsical moldings who see me try not to take a peek
an exit to this madness is what I and they seek
maybe re-evaluate my sleep number, for gravity defying rest
What insight imports this encounter and what test?
what it means for a doomed generation Xer or baby boomer,
tacked in stucco, Silly Putty it seems, in a warped sense of humor
I wish I may I wish away what is unreal with blinky eyes
I pray not to awaken one more inky surreal surprise
Corralled Beneath A Slow Sink Of Half-Moons
{ After: Section LXIX of Memoriam by Tennyson}
An angel of soft and wanted touch,
she delivers, serenity in tow;
can this sunken vessel proclaim, as much,
agreeing to lift the pain from my soul!
Will this humble plea root within your heart,
shall acceptance grant the gift of joyous song?
Chilled, my spirit dreads another false start,
corralled beneath a slow sink of half-moons?
My angel, my heart, I have deep desires.
Could you deny that ever blessed meal
by roasting my frailty upon hell's fires-
would your beloved healing, hands, my soul feel?
Hearing now this saddened desperate plea,
fearing not, your hand reach to comfort me
Robert J. Lindley, 2-07-2016
Debbie Guzzi's , 6/6/6 Challenge
First poem, Beginning of the Line Rhyme Sonnet.
Note: A new sonnet dedicated to this short excerpt--
In Section LXIX of In Memoriam, Tennyson dreams an
allegorical angel who may or may not be the transformed Arthur Hallam:
I found an angel of the night;?
The voice was low, the look was bright;?
He look’d upon my crown and smiled:??
He reach’d the glory of a hand,?
That seem’d to touch it into leaf:?
The voice was not the voice of grief,?
The words were hard to understand.
The ancient prophecy foretold
so very long ago ...
has finally arrived
Coming swiftly on eagle wings
The howling wind carries piercing night cries,
as open iron claws fall
from the mountain sky
And the slumber days, shown many moons ago,
has awakened death — cursed faces
carved on the fallen totem poles
So many, many moons ago,
my careless people were told
by the Almighty Spirit
not to pray to their vain wooden idols,
whom they worshiped in the forest groves
A flood of tears would one day wash upon the shores,
and bathe my people in the ashes
of their burnt fallen totem poles
Our unheeded shamans foretold
of a white pestilence cleansing of the land,
and our idol hearts would be broken
Visions of rivers of blood
from a snow-capped mountain would flow
As foretold ... so many moons ago
We should not have slaughtered the innocent
of our enemies, whom we last fought ...
giving them no mercy shown
Now our wooden sins have revisited us,
with the steady waves of pale crested sails,
seen upon the new moon horizon shores
This changing color of the evergreen leaves
and red clay soil
was foreseen so many moons ago
And the fate of the ebony mane buffalo
is the spirit path we now weepingly follow
Yes, the fall of my prideful people was foretold,
so many moons ago
And I cover my bowed chieftain head
with the ashes of the toppled totem poles
In our late teens
We’d all doll up
Half moons at our heels
Spit shined our shoes
Bell bottom pants
Precisely creased
Bright shirts with poofy sleeves
Hitting the snooker halls
And other local hangouts
Smoking cigarettes
So groovy and so cool
Radio blaring from our cars
Chick magnets
Destination
A&W drivethru
Rolled down windows
Waiting for our trays
Burgers and root beer
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~RANDOM MUSINGS VOL.2~ 2020
AP: 3rd place 2021
Submitted on March 22, 2020 for contest STRAND CHOICE N sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 2ND
Sickle moons have shone above me
In the dark of night,
Standing on the mountain edges
Writing by their light.
Fall with eagle wings of colour
Soared the starry skies,
Called its sickle moon of copper
To enchant my eyes.
Winter passed with silent footsteps
In one silent night,
left the world a stainless canvass
And a moon of white.
Spring woke as an early blossom
Blooming in the snow
never was there such an artist
Made a green moon grow.
Summer, daughter of the morning
Let the world behold,
As her fingers formed the perfect
Sickle moon of gold.
So the seasons passed before me
Still I stand and write,
In the dark on mountain edges
Sickle moons my light.
Black moons on water, deep mirrors of dark
Dark glass where wine whirls in vortexes wild
Wild overfall sucking in seaweed and fish
Fish drowning in the madness of my inner child
Stay with me, wave demons away from my soul
Soul, anima mea, my fears of the night
Night is the time where my demons run free
Free me, please save me, bring me to light
Black moons on dark trees where owls sit and stare
Stare at me with round deep black haunted eyes
Eyes are the windows of tormented self
Self hate my monster to beat undisguised
One day I will see only sun in the sky
Sky, autumn breeze, I spread my wings... and fly
***
January 3, 2017
Deceiving Beams From False Moons Often Fall
Deceiving beams from false moons often fall
To those sad, lonely and lost love blinded
Aching for tender-sweet renewed love calls
Fall farther being so single minded.
Darkness offers its own glimmering rays
Converted into lights by epic pains
When all seems lost, mere seconds are delays
Minutes wasted seem unbearable strains.
Where once love thrived, now love is forsaken
Such gashes break armor and soon blood spills
Thus any rope thrown is so soon taken
Relief too long waited, brings cold chills.
Pride gone, wandering fires fail to warm.
Then Dark and Blackness wrecks its greatest harm.
Robert J. Lindley, 1-24-2018
Sonnet, ( Return To The Lost Light)
NOTE- Written from a message received in a dream last night.
My Muse refused to let me ignore it, thus I sat down and wrote it..
Reflecting colors thru crimson moons,
Parading leaves cuddling while nesting...
Perching birds reminiscing of summer,
Darkening clouds preparing for rains...
Parading leaves cuddling while nesting,
Smelling pumpkins while walking home...
Darkening clouds preparing for rains,
Seasons changing bringing their breezes...
Smelling pumpkins while walking home,
Perching birds reminiscing of summer...
Seasons changing bringing their breezes,
Reflecting colors through crimson moons.
Reversed...
Moons Crimson of October
Moons crimson thru colors reflecting,
Nesting while cuddling leaves parading...
Summer of reminiscing birds perching,
Rains for preparing clouds darkening...
Nesting while cuddling leaves parading,
Home walking while pumpkins smelling...
Rains for preparing clouds darkening,
Breezes, their bringing changing seasons...
Home walking while pumpkins smelling,
Summer of reminiscing birds perching...
Breezes, their bringing changing seasons,
Moons crimson through colors reflecting.
Oct.01.2019
Poet's October Pantoum
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
Music by...Ben Laver
"Plume"...With Female
Virtual Voice
N/A for contest
Echo of distant cries,
quadruped steps deepening into dusk—
wind folding the earth’s breath.
Craftsman of the spider web,
seas of lightning possessing the sky.
Guardian of the other side,
conceiver of comings and goings,
I will meet you soon—
after the waning of many moons,
God-willing—I will meet you soon!
Til then
you will wait—
til the fateful rain washes the earth,
til the sky weeps every secret.
You will wait
as the mountain lion sleeplessly
soaks up the storms to
keep her last babe dry.
The Two Moons Of Sh' vrah
By Charles Gerald Patrick Chard 2nd
Chevra Gavri Hanita Hazaka Abir Selek 2nd
In the light of our two moons,
They help to sooth all our sorrows and wounds,
They glitter and shine in the twilight night,
They glisen and glimmer in the sky so bright,
Yet I wonder as I look upon them above,
In its silver shinning whiteness as a dove,
What a beautiful sight in the sky tonight,
They orbit our planet, so near yet so far,
All around them are the twinkling stars,
Sometimes one by night, sometimes one by day,
Somstime two by day,yet none will stray,
They are timeless, ageless, yet si sireen,
It is beyond your reasoning or so it would seem,
What do you mean two moons in the sky,
Are you crazy? Have your brains been fried,
I only see one, your nuts ofcourse,
Have you been taken over by some other strange force,
I will use my mind to see beyond all sight'
And imagine two moons amoung the stars of the night,
So use your imagination, if you so dare,
And see if your not considered square.
Before ten thousand moons passed by
reigned Mother Earth and Sacred Sky.
Their spirits whispered on the breeze,
from mountain streams to deepest seas.
Nomadic souls rode ne’er to die
before ten thousand moons passed by
hunting bison, both proud and strong,
with lips chanting ancestral songs.
Each blessing rained from clouds of truth
of spirits taught in gleaming youth.
Before ten thousand moons passed by,
in native tongue, soared elder’s cry.
Across the plains, they chased a dream,
like wild horses in warm sun beams.
Their restless souls praised earth and sky
before ten thousand moons passed by.
written 2/12/17
The Moon’s Yellow Eyes
After: The King in Yellow by Robert Chambers
Situations righted by the assassination in Sheepshead Bay (alibied with difficulty under earth’s single moon), I curl up on the windowsill hissing at the pallid orb. Oh how, I long for my planet, Carcosa. I lick the remaining human poison from my claws. Yes, man-made poison, but I, I am the one who delivers— population control.
Wilde, my mate, our transformed intermediary, brushes my coat. I purr. How oddly complacent Wilde has become. Once, he too walked on four legs. After our arrival on Earth and his change (We thought the change would regrow the ear I tore from him in his last life—) my mate became no more than a castrato. I do regret the torture which deprived him of two fingers on his right hand. (It made his job more difficult.) But, discipline was necessary.
the pestle crushes
poison white snakeroot:
yellow eyes shine
Well, why am I telling you this? To that I would say, why not? Who on earth would believe a cat could talk?
The feline form has advantages in espionage. A petted and pampered puss can lure the reticent, overhear the loud-mouthed, two-footed, earthly baboons—with cunning, obtain information no human in their right mind would divulge to an enemy. As valet, advisor, disciplinarian to Wilde (and he to the earthlings), my position abides, a mere slap and tickle from the throats of power. My teeth, neck piercing weapons of choice; my claws scimitars of death drip with the blood of masters.
One more night out. Wilde cat-like licks the scar on his damaged hand and stares at the invitation stamped with the Presidential seal. One more night, sweet puss and the reign of The Yellow King will begin.
Published by Illumen 2016
Blistering and scorching sands
Land of the hushed and crushed hands
Up the creepy furs clasping 'round
Ebbing scraped sand of ants' mound
Mortars of the deep and steamy skies
O'er peals and dreamy flies
Off the reef passerine of stormy glides entreat
New leaf flit, strength above my feet...
Sunsets tweak, marvels at its peak