Best Pyres Poems
In Such Intense Flames, An Eternity May Be Born
Hold your dreams, bind them with rainbow beams
tumble sweetly and let heart's passion arise
sow the seeds that love gives passion's great might
that Life and Love both gift oft in joyful surprise.
With that deep ardor born from Love's treasure chest.
Sing soul's worth and honor thy lover's greatest request.
Embrace those blessings that truest romance bestows
caress them with care and taste their honey sweet
let spring forth, memories that forever shall live
for gems of purest love, never suffer indignant defeat.
With that deep ardor born from Love's treasure chest.
Sing soul's worth and honor thy lover's greatest request.
Chase your heart's desire, revel in its glorious touch
kindle such heat, stoke fantasy and its hottest of fires
for in such intense flames, an eternity may be born
even after glow of passion's saddest of funeral pyres.
With that deep ardor born from Love's treasure chest.
Sing soul's worth and honor thy lover's greatest request.
Robert J. Lindley , 10-14-2018
Rhyme, ( Looking Back, Ages Ago)
Poet's Note- Dedicated to my great friend and writing partner, Susan Ashley.
Inspired by and composed after my reading of Susan Ashley's superbly crafted new poem titled, The Glory Of The Eastern Edge. Thank you dear friend for seeding this burst of early morn writing.
This revisiting of the romantic imaginations of my youth- reminds me now of the immense love and great blessings of my beloved wife Riza and the most cherished blessing of our beloved son Justin.
What once was lost, much later has been found..
Emerald etchings are given birth
to bask their lives in summer's sun,
until brushing brutal winters cheek,
They cower yellow; brown undone.
Swirling down onto concrete pyres,
They somersault to a random grave.
The earth lays claim to copper corpses
But the winter wind is a cunning knave.
It finds and flips the fallen fibers,
then flings them crisply to the street.
The failing sheaves of burnt magenta,
tossed like chaff from harvest wheat.
Now strewn about with playful malice,
and denied the resting place they crave,
for the golden sun is a glint of amber,
but the winter wind is a chilling knave.
The hyacinth stood on the dusking rise,
cerulean the waters did traverse,
the reeds consenting daylight to the skies
as pewter stones recited lapis verse.
The burning pyres of sunlight floated west
untouched by orchid mountains in the mist,
the periwinkle shadows did invest
in rising to the lingering deep kiss
by weeping echoes trailing on the sea
of fire and mangoes in most vibrant past,
the lemon grasses lilting on the lea
and scented mornings in their pungent cast.
The shorebirds ceased their gospels upon sight
as glowing whispers vanished in the night.
She That Embraced The Darkness In Her Veins
With her mind not sick of dark devious games
she opens dead doors, tossing in more painful blames
in newly acquired realm, no mercy was real
as darkness ate away, weeping heart to steal.
She planted her black roses, her favorite crop
Embracing hate masters, never going to stop.
As her heart transformed to stone, sky fell away
nights holding no moons and bright stars, only grey
listening for wolves to howl and night owls hoot
she pondered life and how deep her ancient roots.
Garden wide, its radiant color darkest black
She counted her evil chips, in multiple stacks.
With heartache's deadliest weapon, she spared none
as souls shattered, she would cry out, this is fun
in heralded glory, she lit bigger fires
lustily craving hotter funeral pyres.
When nights got boring, her satanic eyes would blaze
Out into waiting wild world, all hell she would raise.
Robert J. Lindley, 8-02-2018
Rhyme, (Dark Oft Invades Broken Hearts)
Note- The muse said, when darkness invades and the heart saddens and sinks
write words from malevolent parades and pour us both much stiffer drinks!
Emerald etchings are given birth
to bask their lives in summer’s sun,
until brushing brutal winters cheek,
they cower yellow; brown undone.
Swirling down onto concrete pyres,
they somersault to a random grave.
The earth lays claim to copper corpses
but the winter wind is a cunning knave.
It finds and flips these fallen fibers,
then flings them crisply to the street.
The falling sheaves of burnt magenta,
tossed like chaff from harvest wheat.
Now strewn about with playful malice,
and denied the resting place they crave,
for the golden sun is a glint of amber,
but the winter wind is a chilling knave.
From death exudes the acrid breath of Hell
in burning pyres of rosined timbers' blaze.
Return to me where passion's fires dwell
enchanted by the light of your sweet gaze.
I can't endure through life's infernal pain,
without your love, no, nothing can remain,
so burn my soul to soot in hearths of char
and cast each lonely ash to pits of tar.
I know in truth I'm not the one you need.
Emotions smolder deep in fiery night
to have you here just feels so real and right
but if you leave my heart will surely bleed.
You beast, now burn my bones in flames of coal,
your flames of fire will never touch my soul.
04/24/16
As Her Beauty Rivals Red, Red Roses
Gift unto her red, red roses
And perhaps a kiss or two
In her portrait she reposes
With her beauty through and through.
Dare the dawn admire her beauty
For morn needs its fairest queen
To live and love is life's duty
Her eyes bright shimmering green.
As moon's glow highlights her dancing
And heavens above her twirls
One's mind thinks of sweet romancing
Her face and long flowing curls.
Gift unto her red, red roses
And perhaps a kiss or two
In her portrait she reposes
With her beauty through and through.
Robert J. Lindley, 3-14-2021
Romanticism, ( Images, Beauty, Romance And Dreams )
Note:
I have seen this vision on lonely nights
Its promise a true treasure to desire
Those falling tears, at its vanishing sight
Breathes as does sadness at funeral pyres.
Note- I did find that much needed inspiration today....
Burned the rim and the wind did swirl
Across the realm the flags unfurl
The watcher waits to glimpse redemption
Or at least the freedom of exemption.
Then headlong to complacency,
The poet seeks out vacancy.
A place where he can hang his head,
And wait until his words are dead.
What motivates his troubled mind
To leave convention far behind,
And push on stones until they roll,
To eulogize his sacred soul?
His words are called out after him,
Igniting pyres along the rim.
His embered ashes cascade down,
And singe the rooftops of the town.
In this way he is remembered,
As his words become dismembered.
Then feelings that his poems evoke,
Will fly away as wisps of smoke.
Until none read his words one day,
Then the long dead poet will fade way.
Darkness Where Now Poe And Raven Reside,
(Part Four)
Dragon dead, headless, mired with black gore
Hero replied to those chained in cold dark
I am spent! My blade rests, fight I no more
Pray I release, to surface I embark.
This sojourn was from terror I once fled
Payment for cowardice that once took me
I can not free thee, as thee art all dead
Alas! This my heart breaks, woe besets me!
In malignant forests of poison dread
Held firm by ash of cold, perished fires
With beasts, demons, snakes and Poe in my head
Fled I, to burn once on funeral pyres!
Aghast at darkness, that this life invades
Cherished memories overcome by black
O' heart free a lost soul this dark charade
Because of bravery, I fear I lack!
Upon hearing such confession Poe said
For truth's words I will unlock upper gate
Hero you are mortal, here but not dead
Know I too, am bound by powers of Fate.
Raven will escort thee to earth above
Thank we, savagery in thy bloody fight
Heroism shown battle but not by love
But instead by bravest warrior's great might!
Raven take our guest to forest he left
For our show he fought true and very well
Tho' in heart, of Light's might he was bereft
Such exists not in darkness, our true Hell.
As Hero left, the condemned applauded
Even they had some small shred of respect
In their damn fires and pains they lauded
Hero's memory they could not neglect!
Poe stepping onto silent and bare stage
Snapping his fingers to cast three red doors
Declaring, each held a show all the rage
Banned from Light and Earth, all its teeming shores.
Their loudest moan approval, opens door three
From tiny dark soft steps coming to fore
Out came the beautiful Annabel Lee
Then their cries, we want more bloody gore!
Robert J. Lindley, 5-04-2019
Dark Rhymes, ( As Raven And Poe Both Survive Below )
Part Four...
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Total # Words:306
Denizen of abyssal labyrinth,
legendary ancient Wyrm seeks succour
within prodigious sepulchral cavern:
her domicile for an ageless lifetime.
Ethereal shafts cascade through ceiling's
stochastic rifts, piercing tenebrous tomb;
vicious viscous scarlet smears juxtapose
against shimmering iridescent scales.
Aeons past, Faustian pact formed with Man:
vow of harmonious co-existence
exchanged for fulgurant falchion forged in
the heart of dragonflame's conflagration.
Sacred covenant shattered this night by
myriad ironclad interlopers;
ruination's harbinger was strident
warrior wielding token of treaty.
Last vestiges of cacophonous roar
dissipate into the Stygian depths;
acrid stench of brimstone clogs the air as
remnants of vitriolic pyres linger.
Twin gargantuan fibrous wings contract
behind enormous muscular torso;
fulgurating talons sluggishly sheaved
as serpentine tail shudders and falls limp.
Priceless metals and prismatic gemstones
intersperse with charred and twisted corpses;
amongst detritus of mortal conflict,
majestic titan finally crumples.
Massive lurid yellow orbs exhibit
an unfathomable intelligence;
succumbing to the inevitable,
moribund colossus bows forlorn head.
Lifemate butchered by zealous paladin;
remains of final clutch just motes on breeze.
Burden borne by solitary relict:
regal behemoth was last of her kind...
----------------------------------------
(C) John C Michaels, 25th April 2017
Free verse, no meter, no rhymes - as per contest rules.
10 syllables on every line (howmanysyllables.com)
For the contest entitled "A Mythical Creature" sponsored by Julia Ward.
[starboard port]
the ocean—an onyx plate predawn—
somnambulant ships preen with a swag of
warning lights
massive hulls: cargo ships, flotillas, tankers,
passenger liners loll; red lights buss
the somber slate of sky—spangled strings of
bawdy bulbs on the riggings—pole dance
beside the quay—ridged, behemoth smokestacks
toy with the flames of gold and white
[cabin’s lav—occupied]
waiting, my mind trundles to funeral pyres
Viking ships, then returns to marvel at
on-coming airport pot lights which
upstage the walled gasps
[very occupied]
the exodus to Singapore crescendos
we land—manned the plane performs
a ritual slide—ash and steam spew from
stacks of the other perpendicular
members
Touch down.
[the door opens]
First Published by Shooter Literary Magazine Spring of 2017
I carried on to butcher with precision and pride for 5 hours
saving the lives of a Centurion and 6 other Brothers,
and rescued the Standard of Legio V Macedonica from being burned,
I actually sealed my chin wound with the hot metal of the Standard,
for these acts of valor I was awarded the Corona Civica, and a lifetime of " Night Terrors ",
sometimes I think I died in the ruins of Jerusalem,
sometimes I feel like I'm still there, fighting for the taste of honor or for the " smell of blood "
many of the captured Jews were used as slave labor to construct the Collosium,
we made a death sport arena of Jeruselum, but there were no spectators cheering
no audience to applaud the agony of two cultures in a death match,
maybe we are all meant to be gladiators, fighting to make noble graves and pyres -
J.A.B.
These three poems, intended to be one composition, have been entered into the
Roman Legion Contest to honor Ancient Rome and the Poet who sponsered
this historic subject matter.
I'm afraid of the monster under the bed and in the closet
I'm afraid of the lycanthropes who just like all our hopes were once beautiful and now who roped us in and now savagely
enloped with the vampires and the liars and like the fires of desires, now we burn in funeral pyres
Because it's the dark that makes us look into our hearts,
oh mrs. Hart the art teacher with a gun in her mouth and no one could reach her, the teacher who only wanted to to be the breacher of all the famed darkness, like a famine of the mind she succumbed, the bills like giant hills filled her with dread so she cleared her head
like ghouls all the fools in class who grew so fast and in their last moments the components fit so they screamed about what they dreamed and then when it fits it hit and it hurt cuz the undead hopes fed on their dreams
The vampires we hired and fired play the lyre at our full moon with a tune old as a rune next to our tomb.
And I'm not afraid of the dagger because I'm so haggard, haggard of my life and my strife which is rife
but that's life I'm told so never fold, hold my hand because we can and we'll fly in the face of life and never land,
yet I'm still afraid of the mirror under the bed and in the closet and in the dark.
It feeds on my heart this part because the zombies and ghouls and vampires were always real because THAT'S how we feel, that's the deal so yes the monsters are real but so are our dreams.
Darkness is the best mirror because you can only see yourself
leave a comment please
Things begin turning around and very
slowly they take a nasty foreboding twist
as Hell's Dragon has not breathed yet
a deep burning fire melting red his eyes
dripping blood upon fury and destruction
pumping inside the uncontrollable fire
equal to that of a thousand steamboats
and only he sleeps in the dark dungeons.
Chained and suffering in utter Hellfire
chained in untold torment and anguish
unleashed he would burn your heart no less
in a flash—while scorching all to nothingness
fried black from the deepest ashes falling
cold silently sleeping with wings on fire and
chained to love’s weakness as the dark fables say:
Do Not Call Upon This Beast—He’s The Devil’s Own.
Hell’s Dragon stirs inside with tongues of flames
lashing with the pains of hate to strike all now
leaving hottest cinders and funeral pyres a plenty
it’s now the Devil’s very moment to unleash His Evil,
His Demon Dragon upon the saintly and the pure
and the precious doing their good works and all
and unsuspecting of the malevolence awaiting them.
The Devil enters afresh the earthly plane once more and
releases His Dragon to inflict harm and to upset
God’s celestial equation of peace, harmony, and light—
bringing death, destruction, and retribution to all in
its flight path while breathing out the harshest and
cruelest and hottest flames of fiery perfidy in the
name of Lucifer—Himself laughing boisterously at God
all the while not knowing the coming angelic answer.
The Almighty Lord works indeed in the most mysterious
of ways and He will not let his Fallen Angel Lucifer (or
“The Devil” on Earth) have His way by murdering
innocents through His Dragon proxy only too willing to
serve His Master to bring horrible hideous death to all
of mankind who fall within its flight path and intention
to inflict the most treacherous and dastardly plan of
of unmitigated death and horror ever to be unleashed.
Continued burning flesh 2
Liam McDaid and Gary Bateman – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved (November 28, 2014)
(Free Verse poetic format)
Ten years ago, on Eleven September
more than three thousand died,
we should always remember
There was no warning, that fateful day
when those planes hit the towers,
it shall never go away
The Pentagon rumbled, then was on fire
more people died,
with more funeral pyres
The Brave men and women, on flight 93
so valiantly fought,
what if, it were you and me?
Because of this day,there's a war that we fight
a half world away,
we're still living the plight
Me and Women still dying, fighting the foe
some ten years later,
just how far must it go?
On Eleven September,with our flags at half mast
let's remember our Hero's,
for the die has been cast
if you go to ground zero, please say a prayer
in remembrance of the Hero's
who were, are still there
If you see a Soldier, just back from the war
please shake their hand,
for, they deserve so much more
Bow your head now in silence, please let's observe
to reflect upon our Hero's,
it's for us, that they serve !
Heavenly Father; In a moment these brave souls, went from being with us, to being seated with you. We ask that you wrap your loving arms around them, and let them know that their sacrifices were not in vain, that they are being Honored, here, by those whom they sacrificed their lives for! Amen