Best Rested Poems
I heard of a fella named Roger
Who had the most ginormous todger
Guys envied his dong
(Twas twelve inches long)
Six widows now share Rodger lodger!
These widows don’t charge Roger rent
But night after night Roger’s spent -
This randy young chappy
Sure makes these gals happy
I’m surprised his todger’s not bent
05/17/21
good morning all
here is another entry to express I hope everyone is safe
at the present time I still remain from reviewing to which I am sorry
I'm certain I am missing wonderful work
I have just read an entry by Anil Deo and this is my response below
to Anil and to everyone
may we all endure and have rested wings
thank you
peace and safety to all
"rested wings"
as each butterfly lives and breathes
roaming life with all she sees
the strongest among them must pause
they endure with rested wings
for a bird who flies far and wide
gliding along skies high above seas
knows his strength to gracefully sail
must remain sound with rested wings
for our souls and for our hearts
living under darkness or stress
the mightiest within us can fall
with rested wings we stand tall
SkyWatcher
04-24-20
I woke up feeling weird today
Stuck and clung to the bed
Body chained and mind throbbing
But surprisingly ...
I fairly dreamed good and fair dreams
Of next year's trips and a certain freedom
I guess getting to the GOOD
Tries and tires you first
I did the strangest thing next
I cried in prayer
I felt sorry for him
'Cause my love was really there
He knew and knows and will always know
There will never be another heart for him
I'm sorry sweetie ... I have to move on
And I am ...
And I am ... in more ways than this
And I am ... cleansed, free, and normal tonight
I Rested Upon A Tall Mountain Top
I journeyed into a one-eyed pristine land,
nobody could see to destroy its beauty.
There lay rose inspiring colors on demand,
there was, keeping Nature intact as a duty.
I journeyed into that heavenly soft dream,
nobody there was in a wasteful hurry.
Goodness always rained down it did seem,
like snow falling in a gentle flurry.
I rested in that clear and mellow view,
lone traveler seeking no other new path.
Embracing beauty's hold that is so true,
and seeing eternity in its endless math.
I rested upon a tall mountain top,
from there I saw spreading beauty nonstop.
Robert J. Lindley, 1-24-2016
Note. My muse accused me of being lazy and told me to get up and write you clod.
I typed the first verse--then suddenly the rest flowed like a gentle clear stream..
I said thank you muse, she replied, "next time don't be so damn lazy."
"Next time I'll give the first verse and your next thirteen verses had better be great!"
Here lies my body well rested;
The day is done and so am I.
And might I say that God is sly;
Tis not the rest I requested.
Just as fire is a good slave but a bad master, our power to reason, analyse and discern is both liberating as well as confining. Relying upon experience, memory and vicarious knowing, thoughts as deductive intelligence, that dissect and bisect are useful only for functioning in the external domain of transience, as we navigate earth life. However, to harness the world within, we must necessarily rest the instrument of thought, shifting into deep inner silence, connecting instead of grasping, embracing instead of striving, one with the pulse of universal consciousness. As we be, so we are. As we are, so we become. We be to become.
pristine awareness
soiled not by narrow thought forms
sat-chit-ananda
18-April-2021
Moments of reflections - Haibun poetry contest
Sponsor: Malabika Ray Choudhury
A rested sleep
I was light on my
Feet the smell was
Sweet' millions of
Flowers 'I could see
The scent of angels
'I could smell.all
Around me
As 'I walked to thee
You walked out of
A golden gate
Veil covered face
I couldn't see
Who was reaching
For me " your
Voice ring of
A thousand'thunder's
But yet so soft.and
Sweet .You had a glow
Like memories
In my soul
I whispered please
I don't want to go ..
For was it my moment
my time
Was 'I blind
Will 'I see the golden
Gate in time..
Dawn is not yet rested upon the tree tops.
The ancient night of our souls lingers
protracted in the adamantine winter.
Dew buds are unmelted;
the road is swallowed up by dark.
Yet this time above all others is Apollo’s, for he returns!
Even now he grips the horizon with strong hands,
dragging it back a great distance.
The morning shouts of brumal crows are gladdened.
A blur of purple spreads into violet efflorescence.
Birds wheeling high above like fine specks first see his new chariot.
Our souls long drear are new lit by his arrival.
Hope springs anew.
Chickadees sing their spring song in warming rays!
God Rested
By the Sea of Tranquility dwelt the Trinity
And by the coast drove the Ghost
Along with the Father and the Son, They thought as one
With Buddha and Allah, They tested the nature of eternal strife.
From the tree’s double helix we have given them life,
But, the keys to the naked truth, We shall keep beneath our sacred robes.
In the cave’s shadow, we shall addle the lobes of their brains, and drive them insane!
Meanwhile Back on Mars:
Venus, and the Virgin Mary did smoke cigars,
Planning how to fight their dirty little wars.
We shall paint the bones of man red!
That said, We shall make him a war machine
And scar his spleen, and blood, with dread.
Allah, God of the many and the few,
Saints and sinners too,
Those who did not believe He slew.
Kill them with kindness was all He knew.
Zeus on a mountain high,
He lusted, loved them all in the sky,
Rested with all that was double breasted.
Buddha, contemplated the sound of one hand clapping,
While, with the other, he was slapping!
We have made man in Our image,
We have given him life, and the capacity to gauge
Made him the fool, made him the sage
We have given him the need to love
The desire to rage, to win, and to sin.
Male and female, We have created him.
We have given him the night, and the day,
The mind of the lie, and the light of the truth,
And it is for him to find what is sooth.
What the reality is, who is to say?
To the high, or the low, how will he know?
Depends on what seeds he learns to sow,
On which branch he does allow himself to grow.
There is hell to pay when the word does become flesh,
The science of today becomes the foolishness of yesterday.
Don’t ask God why mans mind it does expand with free will,
Because, on the seventh day God rested,
And, is resting still!
Where are you hiding?
My sweet ageless malice
Seasonal in your incarnating
From deep within mothers chalice
You who came drinking dry
Mamas love, patience and hope
Keeping long vigils sighing into dark sky
At dawns cock crow our joy elopes
You bore the tale of myriad scars
Our offering of ash, yams, oil and goats
Charm not your feet from following the stars
Upon tear drenched mound you merrily gloat
Were you bond to severe family bonds
Making mockery of old sacred libations
Early morn your broken amulets are found
Another wail greets the day in sad repetition
Suddenly we are aroused by silence
Our sleepy eyes have seen your last
Our labored prayers and tears in your absence
Holds you fast in the quicksand’s of our past
Rest our newborn child, Obiaraije rest
Sleep our bundle of joy and hope at its best
And feel energized after
light exercise doth spawn
an mental impasse,
where endeavor to coax
literary creativity analogous
to a figurative curtain drawn
shut tight within
thy noggin unresponsive
even when brute force
strongly applied, but still...
no progress made come crack of dawn,
thus temporarily abandon intent
to craft satisfactory poem or prose,
which coveted brainstorm burst adrip
saturating yours truly head to toes
dribbling out nostrils,
asper my porpoise size nose,
hence this feeble effort to appease
with no expected attaboy, kudos, bravoes...
discerning whaling imploring be
sea ching, sans anonymous followers
waiting for me to compose
meaningless gibberish or
profound nugget of wisdom to disclose
while thrashing within cyber sea,
possibly abandoning ambition to compose
superbly coined adage
eye catchingly exotic
as silk negligee pantyhose
(yea...perhaps send near nude selfie)
or chuck stocking favoring frescoes
tattooed across flesh
accentuating anatomical contours
wharf flexing muscles simulates geckoes
(albeit selling progressive insurance)
appearing to slither across body electric
predictably ejaculating Freudian peccadillos,
now bolt upright awake, no longer sleepy,
but dwarfed by giant spuds, no small potatoes
eh...yar right to deem this poker face
one among many bumptious desperadoes,
and mooch hoe gracias reading poem
bumbling, degenerating, fizzling...
into lobbying primal salvoes.
"I have two big toes,
two pinky toes
And two bunions
and I should I walk or run
Where's my platform shoes
Or should I just lay on my heels
I have 2 eyes
Yet, I see naught
My pupils are not in class
And my legs are restless
Am I asleep
I'm just laying on my heels
I have a throat and a mouth
and my vocal cords vibrate yeah!
I have a speech impediment
And I stutter
And my breath is like warm butter
I have 2 eyes
A nose and a mouth
Now all body functions rested
I am infested with the sleep I rest I'm rested
I'm just laying on my heels"
"All body functions have stopped none of which are not moving don't be derailed I'm not fooling don't be saddened be glad because my true self is not here it's risen"~
11/30/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
Though amply rested, I still yawn
And feel energized after
light exercise doth spawn
break through viz mental impasse,
where endeavor to coax
germinating ideas to sprout
about as successful as
buzzfeeding, jump/kick starting
rooting brown lawn
to whether drought.
Long fostering literary creativity
analogous to prying open
figurative curtain drawn
shut tight within
thy noggin unresponsive
even when brute force
strongly applied, but still...
no progress (for aging Pilgrim)
made come crack of dawn,
thus I temporarily abandon intent.
An effort to craft satisfactory poem or prose,
(which coveted, kindled, unexpected...
futile endeavor deluges me when
least able to jot down eureka,
whereby brainstorm burst adrip
saturating yours truly head to toes
dribbling out nostrils,
asper my porpoise size bottle nose,
hence this feeble effort to appease.
No expected attaboy, kudos, bravoes...
discerning metaphorical whaling expedition
beseeching, imploring, soaking...
mine mindscape with
profuse voluminous wisdom
sans anonymous followers
waiting for me to compose
usual meaningless gibberish or
rare profound nugget of wisdom to disclose.
While thrashing within cyber sea,
possibly abandoning ambition to compose
superbly laced, ginned, coined...
poetic adage gee oh
into magnum opus masterpiece
eye catchingly exotic creation
exquisite as silk negligee pantyhose
(yea...perhaps yours truly
will also send near nude selfie,
a worse fate than death
cab for cutie)
and chuck stock inhibition
brokering favorable frescoes
tattooed across flesh
accentuating anatomical contours of flab
wharf flexing muscles simulates geckoes,
(albeit selling progressive insurance)
appearing to slither across body electric
predictably ejaculating Freudian peccadillos,
now bolt upright - ******** awakened,
no longer sleepy,
but dwarfed by giant spuds,
no small potatoes
eh...yar right to deem this poker face
eccentric - born (free) this way,
how Elsa to explain (without lion)
rambling riotous rumination
one among many bumptious desperadoes,
and oh...mooch hoe gracias reading poem
bumbling, degenerating, fizzling...
into lobbying primal salvoes.
I Rested Here
A light rain came upon me while I slept
Lay gently all around
A coat of dew my blanket
My pillow the hard ground
But my slumber is not real
Synthetically induced
By fifty white and orange pills
A final, fatal boost
But please don't mourn my passing
For me please shed no tear
Simply place a sign in this sweet earth
To say 'I rested here'
Sans thought who are we,
as we feel and see,
allowing soul's mind
to be love aligned?
Ego seeks to size
but let's realise
that analysis
is paralysis.
With thoughts left behind,
there's no ego bind;
we then can embrace
inpourings of grace.
Devoid of mind snare,
we’re truly aware,
animated thus,
where no fears nonplus.
Rapture of bliss beats,
cadence that repeats,
a blessing divine;
ours if we align.
Let us take a chance
in void centric stance,
releasing knowing;
in bliss mists flowing.
Oh hermit, know this,
we’re love, light and bliss,
three fold flame of Christ,
heaven’s zenith height.
10-December-2022