Best Raced Poems
She briskly walks in January’s rain,
which drums the endless rhythm of her pain,
pulling closer round her shoulder in the downpour
the leather jacket he so often wore.
Another day like this she can remember
when he had worn the jacket, and against her
he’d pressed as they stood kissing in the rainfall.
The world could wash away; he was her all!
No storm could stop their loving as they raced
with great anticipation to his place.
Before they’d even reached the bedroom door,
they’d flung their rain-soaked clothes along the floor.
Underneath the sheets, though cold and wet,
they madly kissed. He was as passionate
as winter’s storm away from which they’d run,
and yet he warmed her like sweet summer’s sun!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She‘s almost home; the rain has nearly died.
She thinks of all the nights she lay and cried.
While thinking how the rainstorm’s cold still lingers,
inside the jacket’s pockets she moves her fingers.
In the lining of one pocket, her fingers meet
a crumpled piece of paper - an old receipt -
its date from when, without a word, he’d left their town
and in the city, by a drunk had got run down.
The piece of paper gives her now a revelation-
A high class jewelry store had been his destination.
He’d planned to ask her very soon to be his wife.
and bought a ring there on that last day of his life!
His parents gave his jacket to her, yet
she’d always guessed the worst for why he’d left.
What happened to the ring? She cannot know.
But now her tears with bitter sweetness flow.
For Brian Strand's All Yours (Jan 21) Poetry Contest
Ten Years Had Raced Into Oblivion's Cup
Second Poets Tribute Series, Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Chained am I, to desolation's huge anchor
on its long black ship, cargo of hate and rancor
yet in spirit oft I roamed blue skies above
and in my fantastic dreams, found I my true love!
Such was a balm that fled when heartache renewed
Could return only when young life was reviewed!
Alas! At night stars dimmed and evil winds blew
midnight hour, I was served bones I could not chew
and a foul drink of bitter regrets and lying
as Fate had set me here, this ship of slow dying!
Such was a dark curse, uttered by her deep hate
For she turned to darkness to then alter my Fate!
Ten years had raced into oblivion's cup
into darkest seas we went, I never gave up
tho' soul had been impaled by poisonous blades
I clung to that romantic love that never fades!
Such as the poets of old sang and wrote about
Crying to the heavens, chorus of mighty shouts!
Chained was I, to desolation's huge anchor
on its long black ship, cargo of hate and rancor
yet in spirit oft I roamed blue skies above
and in my fantastic dreams, found I my true love!
Such was a balm that fled when heartache renewed
Could return only when young life was reviewed!
Robert J. Lindley, 11-10-2019
Rhyme, ( With imagination, laced in darkness, that life hath a poet shown )
Inspired by Samuel Taylor Coleridge's famous poem, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner First poet- poem: of the Second series of poet's tribute poems.
(Five new poets chosen in this Second series.)
Note:
1.
https://www.britannica.com/biography/Samuel-Taylor-Coleridge
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, (born October 21, 1772, Ottery St. Mary, Devonshire, England—died July 25, 1834, Highgate, near London), English lyrical poet, critic, and philosopher. His Lyrical Ballads, written with William Wordsworth, heralded the English Romantic movement, and his Biographia Literaria (1817) is the most significant work of general literary criticism produced in the English Romantic period.
much more at link given...
samuel-taylor-coleridge
2.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/samuel-taylor-coleridge
I was a planetary climatologist, who studied climate variability and change,
Like sweet variability of stunning, green tulips, in lavish garden rearranged.
Studying the said effects on the biosphere, absorbed so many daily hours,
Like industrious days of fragrant, amber honey, after tumbling into flowers.
My labors impacted energy usage, along with food production and health,
And the survival of endangered species, like golden rays of natural wealth.
Faddish flowers fascinated friends, who flattered them, at my broad fence,
Under fleecy, lemony clouds, fast moving, and orange sun, grown intense.
Famished, feasible family feasted, in lavish flowering fragrance of Fridays,
When fugitive, frosty stars flickered, winking at green garden bonsai trees.
I lived in the house of emerald echoes, in vivid memory of nature's sound,
From birdsong to crickets to evening wind, and brook of babbling renown.
Sachets swept away a sudden sadness, as robins sought another summer,
On my street of starry-eyed forget me nots, like a tune with no drummer.
Nobody knew latest neighborhood news, like my nearest friends next door,
Like chameleon sun, crisscrossing teal sky, wholly ignorant of 'nevermore.'
Pink birds were living high, and red butterflies viewed a world, ultraviolet;
And yellow bees went about their sweet labors, since queen bee desired it.
Strawberry clouds sailed around the world, for clouds ever love adventure,
As dogwoods barked in summer's dog days, during a gold noon surrender.
As I was walking home one day, the sun vanished as skies turned ominous.
There was a lightning flash just before the thunder, loud and cacophonous!
Suddenly, I saw a male face in the clouds, that was bellowing and enraged,
Like blizzard winds through naked trees, howling at a lush year that's aged.
Taken aback, like butterflies in gusts, I had come face to face with thunder-
The mighty, furious face of the storm, and I was filled with sudden wonder!
Then came the silver rains, sideways slanting, at the dead end of drought;
And I raced home like all uneasy nature, in the successive hours of doubt.
Scintillating sun had returned next day, after banishing the tangerine mist,
As benevolent nature was no more angry, its tale ending in an orange twist!
The Malkavian..Part 1
His mind has all the meaning of a madman that is screaming
Tortured and tormented, a life lived to be lamented
His family, drained and defeated, finally retreated
Leaving him believing that he was beyond redeeming
The doctors sent in talked of hope and healing
The drugs administered only made him more demented
Cementing the feeling, that his life is just an echo
Of the endless, timeless, all consuming screaming
His best friend is a dis-proportioned bird appropriately named Buddy
Who’s monotonous motion in drinking is somewhat soothing to his being
Though not potent enough to stop the persistent pounding of the screaming
Often he stared into the emptiness of nothingness contemplating the beauty of its
existence
Only to find his mind is drowning in a confounding conundrum he can’t quite define
It's hard to be philosophical when your mental testicles haven’t dropped to the appropriate
level
So sometimes he whispers tongue twisters until his brain blisters
Madmen mask madness in mindless task of mass mayhem
It was easy for him to pretend to be prim and proper
Just a mask to don in order to dupe his doctor
Circumventing the system that couldn't’t save him
He was as he always had been and would be
In constant pain and agony with no desire for sympathy
Just in need of some freedom from his prisons and medications
Meditations and mantras had given him a sentiment of a design
On how to inhibit the screaming and maybe even end it
\
Four years preparing and plotting the perfect moment of promise
A fire formed from a single flame fueled by an accelerant
Raced through the halls up the walls and killed all the residents
Eighty-eight inmates and staff burned alive in what seemed like and instant
Such little time to search through the bodies looking for a single person
He found her on the fourth floor clinging to the bathroom faucet
He lost his virginity to the burnt corpse of nurse Denise
And to his amazed mind he was astonished to find the screaming was silenced
Mission of the Yellow Songbird
A long highway road stretched its legs before me,
In a place where tumble weeds were conceived,
December evening chasing daylight back to morning
Dusk robed in faded colors starving out the sunshine
Miles put themselves between me and home
With thickets of brier brambles cradled between north and south
Alive with vesper choruses of tiny songbirds.
A gentle tap on my front fender
Roused me from hypnotic highway stupor like popping thunder
I shuddered deeply as possibilities shook my soul;
Maybe one of those gigantic bugs – maybe? Maybe?
But when I stopped my heart seized to solve the mystery
A tiny yellow songbird plastered to my grill wings still open to flight.
Gentle spirit of eternal compassion touched, caressed, my wailing sorrow
Then guided me to a desert tree with perfect boughs,
That welcomed songs of matin mornings from a tiny bird,
To lay to rest God's tiny messenger beneath his favorite tree
Songbird with perfect pitch would no longer sing praise into Heaven's face.
Called to the road again, tears raced down my cheeks
As numb miles raced by with a litany of why in each drop
Time came to take a mountain road from fertile valley to foggy ocean crest -
Screaming round a sharp curve to a screeching stop
Accident, I thought, of two cars only six cars ahead of me –
No ordinary scene -two burned out fiery shells one atop the other!
Realization, like a candle in the darkness, sent out sharp beams
I would have been in that accident had not a precious songbird
Given me a second chance to sing in ministry and embrace this grief;
In the deepest part of my grieving heart, I know our precious God
Gathered to his heart the mission of this tiniest crushed warrior
Who now sings beneath God’s window in the eternal day.
5-17-22
Contest: Divine Intervention
Sponsor: Chantal Anne Cooke
12/14/22
Contest: Poetry Marathon Mile 23
Sponsor: Mark Toney
30 Lines of a 30 Line Limit
A phantom horse came galloping
beneath a silver moon
across a field of recent war
where corpses’ bones lay strewn.
With thunder in his hoof beats,
again and then again,
he raced along a river which,
like blood, ran through that plain.
Though frightful he appeared to be
on land that reeked demise,
a sole intent gleamed strongly
in his sad and ghostly eyes.
Then finally, as dawn began
to paint the broad stretch red,
the unrelenting stallion stopped
and seemed to bow his head.
He briefly knelt, then stood upright
and bore away, with speed,
the spirit of the knight for whom
he’d been a trusty steed!
2014 post for Angela Tune's A Ghost Story Poetry Contest
Submitted Oct. 13, 2022
for Mark Toney's 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 17 Poetry Contest
Darkest Of Days, When His Ship Finally Came Home
A wicked chill, even her house could feel its creep
Tho' silence would not hear its horrific demands.
A dark dream, had awakened her from her deep sleep,
With it, she felt blight and doom had come to her lands.
Day's first somber hour, her heart felt its evil threats,
As old clock ticked away with a deafening roar.
She recited morning prayers, to hedge all her bets,
Went into dirty streets to give aid to the poor.
An angel waiting for ship to arrive in port,
Heart and soul knew, he had been away far too long.
Homecoming, one she prayed weather could not abort,
Time flew by, to docks she raced, love singing its song.
Faith, love and hope filled all her lonesome, aching heart,
With such promises, her wanting nights had been spent.
Sun shown bright, her heart suddenly felt a new start
With merriest of thoughts, onto the docks she went.
Crowd hovering around a blanketed body there
Suddenly her heart felt greatest of her dark fears
Please she prayed,"If its him, tis more than I can bear"
Then she saw, her feet felt wet of her falling tears.
She had ran away, falling down to cry and pray
Looking back, at his ship's flag wave, in wafting wind.
Yet no answer came, Fate had had its dark death way
Answering her cries," Please Lord, let this nightmare end".
A wicked chill, even her house could feel its creep
Tho' silence would not hear its horrific demands.
A dark dream, had awakened her from her deep sleep,
With it, she felt blight and doom had come to her lands.
Day's first somber hour, her heart felt its evil threats,
As old clock ticked away with a deafening roar.
She recited morning prayers, to hedge all her bets,
Went into dirty streets to give aid to the poor.
An angel waiting for ship to arrive in port,
Heart and soul knew he had been away far too long.
Homecoming, one she prayed weather could not abort,
Time flew by, to docks she raced, love singing its song.
Robert J. Lindley, 2-19-2018
Rhyme 12/12,(When Fate Speaks)
NOTE- This was completed this morn, written from an old poem fragment from back in , April 2001. I am trying to finish many of my great many old poem fragments , before my time arrives , as Fate waits for no man!!
‘Twas the night before Christmas and I didn’t care;
I had dozens of latkes I had to prepare.
The menorah was ready, with candles to light,
Waiting there by the window, a wonderful sight.
The presents were wrapped and I lined up the dreidels;
The soup was a’bubble, with floating knaidels.
The applesauce waited to chill in the fridge
In a Chanukah bowl. (Yes, I tasted a smidge.)
The cookies were baked like my grandmother taught,
(So much better than any that anyone bought)
Shaped like candles and dreidels and six-sided stars;
There were plenty to fill cookie platters and jars.
When I suddenly sensed there was something the matter.
I raced to the kitchen – the oil was a’splatter!
For while I was fixing the festive display,
I should have been frying (not quite my forte).
The first batch of latkes was burnt to a crisp
And smoke filled the kitchen (much more than a wisp),
But tying my apron for take number two,
I ditched all the burnt ones and knew what to do.
I lowered the flame and reheated some oil,
Plopping spoonfuls of batter I wouldn’t let spoil.
Then I conjured my childhood and Chanukahs past,
When I had no idea years would fly by so fast.
And I pictured my nana and grandma, as well
As my parents, my grandfathers and Aunt Sydelle
And my brothers and sister and cousins galore
And my uncles and aunts I’ve not mentioned before.
While my latkes were frying, so crispy and gold,
I remembered how Chanukah used to unfold,
When we played with our dreidels and gathered our gelt,
In our family’s embrace and the love we all felt.
So I cooked the new latkes with patience and care,
Knowing that with my kids and my grandkids I’d share
All the pent-up emotions I’ve hidden inside
With a platter of latkes, now perfectly fried.
And to all who will celebrate Chanukah time,
I do hope there’s a lesson for you in this rhyme –
For the very-best feelings our childhoods instill,
Through traditions, our hearts and our bellies will fill.
December 7, 2022
The sun set peacefully
as I looked out towards
the distant red horizon
of the calm, oily sea.
A gentle breeze caressed me,
I stood on the edge of the beach
leaving imprints on the fine sand.
I loved this lonely beach,
the silence was broken softly
by the azure wavelets
that brushed the edge of the sand.
So much beauty and wonder
despite the darkness
that, like an old fog, descended
upon that peaceful part of earth.
I looked towards the sky
dotted with billowy clouds
that raced below the twinkling stars.
I wondered if my angel was up above,
looking down on me,
guarding me from my earthly woes.
What could I do without
my heavenly being of love?
I felt immense tranquillity,
the beach shrouded in peace
far away from the noisy cities
to which I would have to return.
The stars appeared: the evening star,
was it that heralded
the birth of my Creator?
It mattered not, for I was safe.
He was taking care of me.
I knew I'd never be forlorn.
Those days have passed.
Now I'm back home
among cold concrete blocks.
Yet in my heart is peace
for I can still hear
the gentle lapping of the sea waves
on the peaceful beach
that is my own.
Note: In 1976, Richard Clayderman (real name Philippe Pagès) received a telephone call from a well-known French record producer, who was looking for a pianist to record a gentle piano ballad. Paul had composed this ballad as a tribute to his newborn second daughter “Adeline”. The 23-year-old Philippe Pagès was auditioned along with 20 other hopefuls and, to his amazement, he got the job.
O sweet Adeline, born eyes open
And a smile on her small lips.
O delicious child I heard her gurgle
As if she had heeded a joke.
A tune raced in his mind and
He knew it was urgent to put it on paper.
The babe made noises of joy
And the music echoed its tune,
At times it was repetitive
At times it sounded soft and sweet.
But soon the babe raised her voice
A repetitive mellifluous melody
Lulling the babe to sleep.
Dream little child, dream on
Would that you have pleasant dreams,
And may the Good God bless you forever.
(Spenserian Sonnet)
A flagrant man is Robert Brown, a swine;
his eyes glow red like ember coals of fire.
Will fate be kind or bring him bitter brine
and will his soul the evil one require?
Did in pretense he seek to prove desire
and rise to plant a kiss upon her lips?
He sliced her neck and watched his wife expire,
as blood streamed down and dripped from fingertips.
Yet rumor spread as neighbors came to grips
with horror of a murder in their town,
and newsmen raced to pen details in scripts
while lawmen flocked to chase the villain down.
I held my mother in my arms and cried;
her eyes met mine in sorrow as she died.
Clothes all clean
but the washing machine
ate up all my panties.
Raced to the store
to buy some more,
But bought instead some brandy.
Stopped at a shop
for a lollipop;
a treat I find so dandy.
My skirt fell down
In the middle of town.
Now everyone's eyeing my candy!
Once love, or rather, that which I thought was love
Swept me over
And had me racing up on a highway
I raced up and up
Till I reached the top most part of a summit
Only to fall
Back down
Broken into pieces
With deep scars
And loose bolts
And, to my horror,
Realized that I had lost a part of me
A part which I needed most
To fit in society
To cater for myself
And to tend to life as well!
Why, at that time,
I had been running after looks
After the impulses of desires
And I had wanted
To fill up an empty space in my heart
Void and vacant, it had hurt so much!
Pray, now that I've matured
And now that I can claim to know love
Love which is so sweet
That it makes me smile at all times
Love which is so melting
That it has become not only my fort
But also my support
My strength
My cause
And of course, my sole purpose in life
Love, have I come to know
Love, runs not after that which is transient
Love, when it is genuine and mature
Caters for the blooming of both the lover and the beloved
Love allows space, makes dreams come true
And even gives way to opportunities
Love, of such kind, I have grown addicted to
For love, of such kind, allows me to retain my individuality
Respects me and has been steadily sewing up
That which has been torn in me
Pray, puppy love is just for social acceptance
Puppy love is just for a show off
To seem glamourous
And to make others envious
But love, true and genuine
Remains discrete
But reveals itself, bared, naked, disrobed and flaming
In between closed walls!
Yes, love, when made of maturity
Remains as a shadow
But becomes the main propelling force!
Do you remember the creek you and I
meandered with. . . those many years ago?
Its half-forgotten end has now run dry
and vanished like the ferns that used to grow
along the border of the glade we two
had happily discovered, claimed as ours,
and even then, I guess we somehow knew
that time was fleet; we picked sweet wild flowers,
made friendship garlands. Sunny daffodils
were blooms you liked the best. I liked the blue.
And then we raced each other up small hills,
lay laughing in green grass, friends ever true!
I don't run now! I spread a blanket and
weave yellow rings, remembering my friend.
A cat jumped in the river
to meet a fellow fish,
he wanted to be like them
it was his only wish.
He figured he could do it
he had everything it takes,
with whiskers on his front parts
and a tail a catfish makes.
He swam down to the bottom
while holding in his breath,
but soon began to worry
that this might end in his death.
His little heart was pounding
as he raced back to the top,
he determined if he made it
that he wasn't going to stop.
He broke the surface with a splash
and gulped in lots of air,
He climbed up the embankment
and ran like he didn't care.
He ran through empty fields
and to home ran all the way,
and when he got their safely
stopped to think about the day...
"I love to watch the catfish
as they circle down below,
they move around so effortless
and offer quite a show."
He wanted to be like them
so he thought, in blissful glee,
but then he came to realize
...'twas curiosity.
Their mesmerizing silky glide
and tantalizing tryst,
offered a temptation
that brings us to this twist:
The cat by then concluded
that it was to be his fate,
that he should rather have the catfish
on his dinner plate.