Best Oj Poems
Our Midnight The Unseen Within
( Collaboration )
Silent unto our sense, yet musical
With eternal harmony, they move
About our darkened vision, the beautiful ones,
Angels of destiny.
Pale with the dawn, sun-golden with the noontide,
They mingle with our moments;
There is no sadness that they do not share,
No night they are not near.
Even as flowers that scent the roving winds
With fragrant incantations, - flowers unseen,
That loose the largess of their beauteous dreams,
Even so are they.
Bequeathing endlessly for our delight
The gifts we spurn, the secret revelations
Would make us in our needless misery
True kindred of the Soul,-
A holy kiss to marry us with light,
These sheens where cherubins loose their waxxen wings;
Shear the shadows where fear is oft found,
And quell doubt like a startled imposter
A righteous device to lead us home.....
A wanton wind to soothe the wayward ails;
A flame-cold but bright to illume every wan,
We sleep unbeguiled, where angels tread
What secret shadows skulk to maim?
Strip our bones to sudden death?
Move they winnowed and tarried -----
Helpless to the winged, swift eye
A keepsake (say many) beat of feather;
Hope gives us peace in those hallowed hills,
Where the angels sing like larks and cry a tear of love:
(Our midnight)
Robert J. Lindley and Keith O.J. Hunt,
2-21-2016
Note:
First 16 verses written by Robert Lindley
Remaining 16 verses 16 written by Keith O.J. Hunt
Upon Misty Morning's Fast Fading Glow
Upon misty morning's fast fading glow,
dance fairies on glittering silver wings.
Flying with fantasies flowing in tow
And sweetest joy such dancing often brings.
Above their heads the rising sun awaits,
its morning sun's time for shining anew.
If fairies are seen, man then contemplates,
dreaming depths of that rare mystical clue.
As dancing wings fast flutter to depart,
one ponders glistened myriads of fate.
Sadness beating in dreams of every heart,
with embellished scenes of day's opened gates.
Upon that vanishing flash time cries out,
woe to he that simply waits upon me!
Free living is what life is all about.
Life taking dire chances is living free-
In those windless breezes summer moon shines,
In the deep dark no more secrets to dread,
The grave beginnings we have all kept live ----
Weeping misery and ancient-kept death
The mountains moan, the mountains moan! ---- as babes!
Those creepy-crawly mists fade to fortune;
Wondrous winds in a panting night do tame ----
The fevered child once wan with vacant love
A horn Gabriel shall blow through pink clouds ----
And sleeping stars bring life with bright-night-light
A world to shine and illume all year round;
Broods of good company and simple delights
The morn shall pass and with it mad darkness,
The heavens death cannot roam freely so;
Old Lucifer, huffing and puffing red!
Upon misty morning's fast fading glow.
3-04-2016
First 16 lines written by Robert Lindley
Last 16 lines written by Keith O.J. Hunt
Day Goddess at Night
(a collaboration)
Within Spring's timely and gentle fold,
she blossomed eloquently for all to see,
Tales of her epic, great beauty thus told,
of a flower blossom awaiting its honey-bee.
Meadows cried out and adored her sweet name
grace in glory, of her they did proclaim.
Sunny days sought to rival her soft allure
and gentle clouds her heavenly flight.
Womanhood, in her big heart so very pure
that full moon envied her touch at night!
Moonlight sought out her beautiful face,
to lavish its gleams upon her every trace.
Moonlight Queen she be,
stares to dawn with stardust need,
Speckled and bright her hope breathes the night
she of night-wind allure
Could there be softer steps for love to walk?
Mountains moan 'neath her call?
Such silver Goddess, sweet kisses to dawn
wild with starry-winks, how she must sing! ----
Glazed as newborn dreams,
Galaxy after galaxy call her name:
They've come to patron her lovely,
(we) in our watching world, gaze her night-wind allure
Robert J. Lindley & Keith O.J. Hunt,
12-19-2015
Note: Keith , thanks for gifting me, the pleasure and honor of
penning verses with you. Your poems and magnificent classic style
verses always speak to me and have often given me inspiring thoughts
my good friend.
Any time.. Thanks...
I love to hear the bacon sing,
Its wafting essence meant to bring
The slumbered family from their lair
With hopes of sampling morning fare.
Like Siren’s song or Venus’ face
They’re drawn to bacon’s fond embrace.
Now add the scent of waffles warm,
The maple syrup brings the swarm!
Eggs to order, short stacks brown
Biscuits, OJ, rolls renowned,
It never fails a smile to bring,
I love to hear the bacon sing!
I Love to Hear the Bacon Sing
By: Dean Wood
5/1/2017
Couplet
1st Place
May Standard Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Within Spring's timely and gentle fold,
she blossomed eloquently for all to see,
Tales of her epic, great beauty thus told,
of a flower blossom awaiting its honey-bee.
Meadows cried out and adored her sweet name
grace in glory, of her they did proclaim.
Sunny days sought to rival her soft allure
and gentle clouds her heavenly flight.
Womanhood, in her big heart so very pure
that full moon envied her touch at night!
Moonlight sought out her beautiful face,
to lavish its gleams upon her every trace.
Moonlight Queen she be,
stares to dawn with stardust need,
Speckled and bright her hope breathes the night
she of night-wind allure
Could there be softer steps for love to walk?
Mountains moan 'neath her call?
Such silver Goddess, sweet kisses to dawn
wild with starry-winks, how she must sing! ----
Glazed as newborn dreams,
Galaxy after galaxy call her name:
They've come to patron her lovely,
(we) in our watching world, gaze her night-wind allure
Collaboration of Robert Lindley (first 12 lines)
and Keith O.J. Hunt (last 12 lines)
Angel, No Romantic Heart Could Forget
( Collaboration R. Lindley & K. Hunt )
Desiring to feel again, thy warmest touch,
Dreams that have faded into distant past,
Love burning hot in our hearts was too much,
Its glow and ardor faded too fast,
Thou wouldst have had eternal sweet dreams,
In castles created to hold our true love,
Alas! This dark world destroyed with wicked schemes
All that was heaven sent from above.
We in our youth, tasted of love's purity divine,
Gentle hands, held wealth of all precious to me,
Thy image and power, did my romantic soul refine
Gifting passionate fruits of thy bountiful tree;
Now my soul, cries out for thy blessed return,
This miracle I pray shall one day be,
As flower meadows, rich in glory, one never spurns,
Let love send us again, sailing on its heavenly sea.
For all the ages revealed our great love eternal,
From silver spires did the world seem so small and otherworldly
We crept into our lofty paradise, teeming our little secret furled;
Two great eagles soaring soft to eternity
A thousand kisses too holy and sweet thy lush peck
A million lovely seasons thine eyes sparkle as honeyed stars
To Venus (shooting!) and thine vast heart our thee wed
But without thee, life is empty and its affections as death's cold charms
So sweet, death whispers your name.....
To tempt my fate to follow thy fleeting footsteps;
How damp this love, wouldst now seem in vain
No flask too deep to numb this bitter-made bed
But I shan't despair no more to mourn ----
For too holy my angel, lest I forget her plea;
The beauties of her idylls (alone) as lovelies shown:
Let love send us again, sailing on its heavenly sea
First half written by Robert Lindley
Second by Keith O.J. Hunt
Silent unto our sense, yet musical
With eternal harmony, they move
About our darkened vision, the beautiful ones,
Angels of destiny.
Pale with the dawn, sun-golden with the noontide,
They mingle with our moments;
There is no sadness that they do not share,
No night they are not near.
Even as flowers that scent the roving winds
With fragrant incantations, - flowers unseen,
That loose the largess of their beauteous dreams,
Even so are they.
Bequeathing endlessly for our delight
The gifts we spurn, the secret revelations
Would make us in our needless misery
True kindred of the Soul,-
A holy kiss to marry us with light,
These sheens where cherubins loose their waxxen wings;
Shear the shadows where fear is oft found,
And quell doubt like a startled imposter
A righteous device to lead us home.....
A wanton wind to soothe the wayward ails;
A flame-cold but bright to illume every wan,
We sleep unbeguiled, where angels tread
What secret shadows skulk to maim?
Strip our bones to sudden death?
Move they winnowed and tarried -----
Helpless to the winged, swift eye
A keepsake (say many) beat of feather;
Hope gives us peace in those hallowed hills,
Where the angels sing like larks and cry a tear of love:
(Our midnight)
First 16 lines written by Robert Lindley
Last 16 by Keith O.J. Hunt
Upon misty morning's fast fading glow,
dance fairies on glittering silver wings.
Flying with fantasies flowing in tow
And sweetest joy such dancing often brings.
Above their heads the rising sun awaits,
its morning sun's time for shining anew.
If fairies are seen, man then contemplates,
dreaming depths of that rare mystical clue.
As dancing wings fast flutter to depart,
one ponders glistened myriads of fate.
Sadness beating in dreams of every heart,
with embellished scenes of day's opened gates.
Upon that vanishing flash time cries out,
woe to he that simply waits upon me!
Free living is what life is all about.
Life taking dire chances is living free-
In those windless breezes summer moon shines,
In the deep dark no more secrets to dread,
The grave beginnings we have all kept live ----
Weeping misery and ancient-kept death
The mountains moan, the mountains moan! ---- as babes!
Those creepy-crawly mists fade to fortune;
Wondrous winds in a panting night do tame ----
The fevered child once wan with vacant love
A horn Gabriel shall blow through pink clouds ----
And sleeping stars bring life with bright-night-light
A world to shine and illume all year round;
Broods of good company and simple delights
The morn shall pass and with it mad darkness,
The heavens death cannot roam freely so;
Old Lucifer, huffing and puffing red!
Upon misty morning's fast fading glow
First 16 lines written by Robert Lindley
Last 16 lines written by Keith O.J. Hunt
In cool waters of her peaceful mind
are rare pools of depth unknown,
and wonder-pearls most rare to find,
lie great treasure there alone
Many reach them, yet none can
but often, in his lonely night ---
she smiles upon some weary man,
and all his heavy burden grows light
Should the wind whisper a thousand names,
from her lips giving soft-love to each,
a peck for hope in dire days;
though the world be doused in darkest heat
In coolness the waters doth breathe shiny-secrets,
where hope is found in hallowed halls,
no darkness, despair, nor regrets ----
lavishing in cool, speckled waterfalls
First two stanzas written by Robert Lindley
Last two stanzas written by Keith O.J. Hunt
Impossible is Nothing
Impossible is something that can’t be done
Like when Ali knocked out Liston
In the 1st round and won
Or when Kevin Garnett led the wolves to the playoffs
Like when OJ got off
Or, how much money Bill Gates makes from Microsoft
Impossible is Nothing
Of course
Like when the Williams sisters 1st stepped on a tennis court
Impossible doesn’t mean a thing
Like when Tiger Woods took his 1st swing
When Patty Labelle started to sing
When James Brown learned how to dance
This just isn’t by circumstance
Impossible is Nothing by far
Like when Jimmy Hendrix learned to play the guitar
Or the day I looked up to the stars
Impossible is Nothing to me
Because I’m still able to breathe
Still able to see
Still free, and still me
So, Impossible is Nothing for someone of my capabilities
And mental stabilities
That’s easy, so
Impossible is Nothing
Maybe to you Impossible is something
Of which you can’t imagine
Or fathom, or comprehend at all
You need to take the 1st step before you fall
And stand tall at whatever you do
As long as I have this pen
Then Impossible is Nothing
I still woke up this morning
And can pay my bills because of my skill
Maybe for the weak Impossible is something they seek
And say from the tip of their tongue
But, I’ll tell you one thing, for me
Impossible is Nothing
Sleepeth thou darkling,
fade....
How privy thy existence made,
to shade the feathered extremity
thy plumage gave;
a kiss unto pools sleeping
white at noon....
neath bowers in waking rain,
through arbors, dripping and brawn
The black swan returns again,
('tis no shame to love him so)
Seeker of the serfs;
with slow power he fends her,
such flight to beating wing,
to dawn never ending
(seizing watery throne)
Thou art royal among the waters
and scarlet skies make pink
thy billowed white hues;
Little boats of lovers sigh
your white-spirit near
How good omen fosters good cheer ----
How blessed they feel your presence
here,
grace upon the gentle waves
There is black among the pond,
sable Lord from Melbourne;
his speech unruly and red,
Likened his beak with surly scarlet
throngs,
how honest his nature bequeathed
(how darkling his arbors met)
floating in the nestles, watching
with spring-fed breeze
And she to him, a Queen of fair hope:
" Shall I call thee white love? "
said he
Keith O.J. Hunt (C) 2014
Take the moments,
add that time there was a lady
Walking up to the grocery store.
The balloon boy drama.
The mother and her baby strolling
Quite in their worlds, smiling.
Jonbenet Ramsey, Oprah,
David Letterman, OJ,
The Simpsons and the Family Guy.
When you woke up and saw your face
For the 6,000th morning in a row
And didn’t know it to celebrate.
The New Moon & Twilight events
The nails that keep growing longer
As we keep growing older, that nonsense.
Oh but we are clear about change
In hair color, toupee, and make up
Plastic on the nails, Veneer on the teeth.
Shakespeare’s seven stages of man
Just doing the same things, we
Are looking at each other, all.
Eating, passing through the living room
A thousandth time, although --
This moment comes only once.
THE JURY IS OUT*
There once was a simple rhyme
that made up a jury's mind.
They gave it great thought
for a verdict they sought
as the clock in the courtroom
passed time.
They had to determine
how true the allegation
that the man really killed his wife;
or if he could go free
and go on with his life.
They listened very closely
their minds made up mostly.
But their brains the lawyer
did sway,
as they listened and then
heard him say,
"If the glove doesn't fit
you have to acquit."
and "not guilty" became the
verdict.
And that was the rhyme
that turned the jury's mind.
'Twas a shame, and a sham;
what a crime.
* The O.J. trial prompted this poem when I saw a commercial for the Johnny Cochran Law firm on TV (after Cochran died).
There once was a butcher named Cassidy,
Who had a tremendous capacity,
To drink orange-juice all day,
And most will say,
He was good at this talent you see
Each day by one or two,
His skin took on a tangerine hue
And his eyes turned to two yellowish orbs
Yet he drank more juice,
And there was no use
In trying to squeeze him some more
Butcher Cassidy lived that way,
Till his dying day
And he was buried in a Chinese grave yard...
For he had turned permanently yellow
This juice-addicted fellow
That's just what OJ can do
And come next spring
To surprise evryone
From pauper to king
From the graveyard
Nature did bring,
A grove of orange trees
Some say when they pass
the orange-juice aisle
And if they linger awhile,
And urge for ribs and juice
Will come their way
And nothing else will do
So watch your intake of juice
Before the orange demon is let loose
And your life will end in dismay.
(In a 19th-century legal judgment studied by all who
learn the English common law, Sturges v. Bridgeman,
the court found in favour of a "nice" doctor over a
"common" manufacturer, for reasons of pure snobbery.)
The Candyman Can’t
Some legal battles have the power to thrill,
while others never have, and never will.
Some touch on human themes which really matter,
and some do not. We’re dealing with the latter.
This present case is hardly OJ Simpson:
it lacks dramatic shape, and simply limps on
listlessly, with abstruse reasoning,
no sex or violence to give it seasoning.
One Mister Bridgman manufactures sweets,
in premises where Wigmore crosses/meets
its neighbour, Wimpole. Eighteen seventy-nine
of our salvation, two lives intertwine
when Doctor Sturges takes consulting rooms
around the corner. Disagreement looms,
for Bridgman’s grinding, pounding candy line’s
destroying Sturges’ peace, fragging his mind.
The law of nuisance really is quite funny.
It says, “he did you harm? Well, here’s some money”.
What if you’d rather dodge the damage, and
defer the dollars? How to countermand
the duty-breach-then-damages regime?
Suppose we interpose a better scheme?
Instead of “you must suffer, he must pay”,
we stop the harm? The problem goes away!
This ruse is known as “equity”. It functions
by granting prior relief (they’re called injunctions).
So Sturges stemmed stentorian sweetie sounds
by order of the court, and Bridgman found
his business gagged and bound by hoops of steel,
for no good reason. What to do? Appeal!
(For thus advise the lawyers. Such affairs
drag on for years. The lawyers? They get theirs!)
Said Bridgman: “I’ve been cranking out jujubes
for decades now. It’s all gone down the tubes
because some quack dislikes the earnest hum
of my devices. Why, then, did he come
to Wimpole Street? He wants tranquility?
Go hang his shingle in Highgate Cemetery!
I have a remedy for Doctor Sturges:
it’s swallowing his antimony purges!”
But Bridgman lost. One cannot help but feel
that making toffee wasn’t quite genteel
enough. Their Lordships said behaviour
that’s unacceptable around Belgravia
can find a home in Bermondsey. The latter
has lots of lowly types. It doesn’t matter
if they have noisome noise, and have to live
in filthy fumes – for they’re not sensitive.