Best Sharpened Poems
The moon dances
on lonely nights,
to astral beams of
the clear quartz milky way~
I lay in an olive meadow
designed in fragrant
promises,
hidden between thorns
and thistles disguised
as fields of ferns.
Inhaling life, exhaling pain,
as the Universe unravels
a cosmic shadow that
follows hail storms
brewing in my mind.
Whilst Vanilla butterfly
snowflakes swirl
in solitude through dark
December nights,
drizzling shooting stars
upon my poetic heart.
reminding me that
there’s always pastel
colored sunsets waiting
to smear forsaken skies in
feigned wishes and
mistletoe kisses,
that last as long
as inconsistent seasonal
hollow gusts,
thawing glaciers on icy tips
of my fragile fingers,
with fleeting flames
quilting lilac lavenders
into a blanket of happiness.
But weary winds
can pierce
through the strongest
of roots,
and I always knew I was on
my own~
an empress without
an emperor
in an empire of
raging tempests.
Although, nightingales
sing soothing serenades,
oblivious to the sinister
sun that lacks empathy,
enshrouding my
grieving spine
with scorching thick
threads of electric heat,
feeding life above the
emerald waves of time,
there’s no antidote left
in my empty sphere of
familiar faces, with frosty
chivalrous smiles,
I’ve walked through
frozen miles,
cloaked in sparkling silence,
where hopes and faith
died, like ephemeral
colors of northern lights,
within the tilted stage
of my tainted black
and white soul,
releasing a
wounded sigh.
So, don’t question my
invisible wand with
pixie-dust, that
wipes away every murky
cloud, enveloped
in hazy unjust;
I deserve more than
this pantomime of
pretend,
of decayed trust,
where wooded
trees stand empty,
with rosy
lies scribbled in blood,
from envious pens
and sharpened nails,
full of ferocious fire
on forgotten trunks..
Categories:
sharpened, angst,
Form:
Free verse
I decorate a grotto for you, Mama
where orchids and holy images
embellish this special place and day,
that saintly icons guard you there
as if they beg me to be released
from years of guilty devotion…
Yet I polish their laced clothes;
then end the night waiting
for wind chimes to knell,’ Magnificat.’
Scenes from younger days resound,
while you, Mama, gift me with love and hate
flickering through my confused mind :
And sharpened bells ring in my ears;
the gong of your voice banging
across the hall... yet I still recall,
mouth so tender, droning lullabies
in the soft of window sills, ‘Magnificat’…
How can I reconcile quietude and boom,
when the little girl in me longs for your timber
here beside this special place--
till holy statues listen to my own chimes
and finally, understand this adoration.
I Cannot Believe I Wrote That Poetry
For Nina Parmenter
Written 8/1/2015 Re-post 12/5/2018
Categories:
sharpened, devotion, mother daughter, sound,
Form:
Free verse
Don't let him sway you with his sultry rhymes
Don't let him woo and steal your heart away
Don't let him touch your soul with soulful lines
You know, my dear, he only wants to play
Don't let him tell you that you are divine
Don't let him make you think that you're unique
Don't let him say your eyes are pools sublime
You know, my dear, he wants to make you weak
He wants to break defenses and come in
To taste the hidden pleasures of your heart
He wants to take, to conquer, and to win
and then to leave when you've been torn apart
There is no greater pain than wounded pride
When truth reveals betrayal's sharpened knife
Revenge will be the thorn there in your side
For he has taken love, and dreams and life
So do not let him win in lover's game
Pick up your sword and gird yourself to fight
If you succumb, you will not be the same
I urge you then to vanquish with your might
Then still your heart and let it dormant lie
Let not your eyes take in the beauty there
He will not stop; he will most surely try
To ravish you and leave you naked, bare
So fight with all your might this war to win
Don't let your guard now slip; be strong and brave
take heed to what I say; don't fall in sin,
for none but you, your heart and soul can save
Eileen
Categories:
sharpened, strength, woman,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
We are Nasty Women
When we hear haughtiness, we name it
When we see bullying, we blame it
We are Nasty Women
We do not daintily defer
For selfish whims of a saboteur
We will not walk three steps behind
We will not sheathe our sharpened minds
We are logic's clear eloquence
We are unyielding consequence
We are Nasty Women
We are out of many, one
We are the soldiers of every war
We are astronauts and commodores
We are the activists of plundered Earth
We are the executives who expect our worth
We are the advocates of facts, unsuppressed
As we walk the corridors of Congress
And we are far from done.
6/06/19
Poem of the Day
June 8th, 2019
Categories:
sharpened, character, confidence, courage, strength,
Form:
Rhyme
“Wicked Web of Woes”
Is there a reason
to rhyme when
lifeless fingers
breathe toxic agony,
whilst disgraced
quill suffocates
from wildering
riddles swerving to
the stillness
of calcified air?
As today, my heart
keeps pacing,
searching for a
symphony of serenity-
amid wayward clemency,
and when the first star
of the evening sky,
fades and shatters
upon a celestial canvas
of colorless dreams.
I feel the sweeping
wings of salvation,
resting amidst
clipped faith,
drifting swiftly towards
abandoned clarity;
exiled into
barren fields of
vast polarities,
where hope collapses
into an eternal demise,
tangled within a
wicked web
of woeful sagas,
trapped between
heavy clouds
of unshed tears,
beneath the
crisp cusp of sanity.
Yet I stand in
sweltering silence,
recollecting lost
chronicles of
who I once was,
whilst I’m drowning
in waves of
vexing numbness,
screaming into
the oblivious
spheres cloaked
in smoky
arctic haze,
questioning the
captive chains
of reality,
in dialects only
the moon
can comprehend.
Am I destined
to be caged
in sinful darkness
that the
world fed me,
with sharpened
knives at
empty tables,
with faceless
ghosts of yesterday?
Perhaps there’s
still a poem
that can unlock
the mystery
to a future that
thrives with
fruitful orchards,
where rain that
tastes succulent
wouldn’t burn
your flesh,
for even the
milky-ways would
unravel a realm where
everything should
be as it seems.
Vanquishing the
strings that bind—
daring me to breathe.
Ink Empress
Fading Star Silence
Categories:
sharpened, life,
Form:
Free verse
It's a nightmare down on Elm Street. Satan's waiting here at home.
Where's that little Freddy Krueger with his nails of sharpened chrome?
And that dearest Michael Myers, as he's always sure to call?
Halloween won't be so keen without some slashers in the hall.
They're all meeting up with Jason and the other demon spawn
to pay Old Scratch a visit, so I'll leave the porch light on.
I'm your sugar devil daddy and I'll tempt you if I can,
so now open up those goody bags, cause I'm your candy man.
Welcome, all you little zombies. Here, I've got some flesh for you!
It's in a candy wrapper and so much easier to chew.
Just hold out your plastic treat bag, and hold off eating me.
The junk I'm gonna give you tastes much better than my knee.
It's so loaded up with sugar, you'll be bouncing off the walls.
So go ahead and gorge yourselves and fill the bathroom stalls.
Kneel before the porcelain god or use the toilet sink.
You can always use the practice now, for later when you drink.
You can't take a piece of healthy fruit or any home-made treat.
The media have made damn sure it's only junk food that you'll eat.
So celebrate my holiday and consume till it's obscene.
Welcome into my domain... and Happy Halloween!
October 15, 2014
Categories:
sharpened, holiday, satire,
Form:
Rhyme
ASP OF GRIEF
She buries her head upon this asp of grief —
soft with reptilian fangs, hard with poison.
Her covetous husband lies upon the Nile’s reef.
She holds her abdomen in her arms - his son.
with lunar belly...
the shape of her husband’s seed
...a fateful eclipse
The pit with its bone-chilling cold, hisses with hatchlings,
dreaming of spoiled seeds and seas with a vortex,
coiling around ships. A queen’s lips burn red, yearning for her king.
An abandoned wreck will not lay eyes upon his baby’s sex.
insanity’s kiss...
eyes burn with crimson lipstick
...unrepentant flames
She plays with sticks and desire, enticing asps of despair —
gorges with vampiric teeth. She embraces their mock
and likewise teases, beckons and pleads for death so fair.
Like a breeze about her ankles snakes snip her royal purple frock.
entanglement frays...
dyed purple threads unravel
...rigor mortis strikes
His candle ensign in the dark, a resurrected hero of vanity.
The light flickers with feet in the sand, footprints at lover’s leap.
His profile in death’s shadow, his purple passion of insanity —
laughter litters this carnivorous cave where ashes of dust heap.
alluring ashes...
Salome’s serpentine dance
...Cleopatra’s veils
The sound of a knife being sharpened, his sword with venom drawn,
leaps upon his self-righteous chest, a single blade’s deep penetration.
No handsomer lover, thighs of steel, tanned and craven brawn.
He lost his rapturous beauty bright and fleeting, weeds of veneration.
bilious-amber
mixes with his crimson blade
— a suicide pact
4/28/2018
Categories:
sharpened, beauty, death, grief,
Form:
Rhyme
howling black wolves complain to new moon,
of devastation wrought by creatures!
different from rest in size and shape,
walk on two legs, strange hairless features!
in packs behind rigid barriers,
cunning to modulate world to needs,
the rivers run dark under their feet,
trees have perished to nourish their seeds!
clouds now migrate away to the south,
it thunders and rains where once desert,
vast oceans expand as glaciers melt,
cold death now haunts where once birds would nest.
hunt us down, say are born of devil,
spare not a thought for nature’s reasons,
we hunt when hungry, the weak and lame,
but they kill for game in all seasons!
fire horrors ravage homely woods,
cuckoo laments morning with its lore,
big herds that walked now dress their rooms,
world is wounded, earth is bleeding sore!
Horror! Horror! we cry to the moon,
our laments tear down the dark silence,
ruled by these creatures with hearts of stone,
they are destructive sans repentance!
we fear not ghosts that lurk in the dark,
nor dripping blood from a sharpened steel,
greater horror lurks where these things haunt,
a pestilence that rocks nature’s keel!
Written 3/May/2021
Funom Makama sponsored
Horror poetry contest
9 syllables each line-
lines2 and 4 rhyme in all quatrains!
POTD 05/05/2021
Categories:
sharpened, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
The mean old housecat has bulgy eyes
when she looks at us in our fish bowl
Oh, how much we've come to despise
that big mouth of hers, the black hole
Poised to pounce with sharpened claws
She's taking jabs with hatred brimming
that ugly feline beast with drooling jaws
for us little fishes, innocently swimming
Our little bowl is cosy, room for only two
bad kitty on the outside, always looking in
If her paw ever grabs us, what are we to do
we’d be much safer in a smelly sardine tin!
If she ever catches us, we’ve got big troubles
perhaps in her dreams she sees us as fat trout
In fear we produced a stream of gassy bubbles
If only our owner would give bad kitty a clout!
All the chaos made us soil ourselves with poop
so we let that mean old cat feast on a tasty treat
When her nasty tongue slurped intestinal goop
the beast screeched in horror! Revenge is sweet!
Our owner came home and cleaned out the bowl
Soon we returned to our safe sweet smelling home
Kitty got banned but can see us through the keyhole
Now we don’t suffer from irritable bowl syndrome!
Categories:
sharpened, cat, fish,
Form:
Rhyme
I can’t believe I thought that there’d be no darkness when it’s dawn,
I’ll be your queen of hearts, even if the cosmos did crack,
‘forever’ exists as an unseen reality, and the sun will always sprinkle saffron crumbles,
upon vivacious petals of violet roses,
painted by poetic dreamers with writers block,
amidst sharpened thorns and thickened thistles.
But why do golden flares burn the selfless skin of silken silhouettes that swirl to his salmon streaks?
Is there no empathy left in cerulean spheres?
I remember the warmth of his solar presence,
and how he whispered sweet tales to the blue breeze;
he said he loves the storm that sits on
the edge of angst,
yet he chose to flee, in the quest of citrine light,
at the sight of roaring rain and raven clouds,
too reluctant to walk beneath skies engulfed in chaos.
I ponder, who am I to blame?
when the truth is, I assumed the splitting songs of this thunder-struck canvas,
would never be a reason for him to erase inked promises.
Perhaps, I should have seen, how the sparkling stars waned in silence,
and the moon veiled its pearl necklace,
tired of the monsoon monsters, mercilessly moving,
above seas so calmly awaiting~
cantaloupe wings of the compassionate sun.
So, today, I’ll follow our honey-glazed dreams,
still left along ivory shores,
adorned with seashell souvenirs,
while reminiscing how, you wove profound pantoums,
from refined refrains of rhythmic romance,
to calm the lawless nature of my inner-psyche. …
Categories:
sharpened, deep,
Form:
Free verse
~
The fog, it clings the heavens low,
a damp and murky sight
Where creaking branch and fears bestow,
this chilly autumn night
The path it winds, a serpentine,
a' slither 'long the way
As shadows dance a drastic scene,
in silhouette array
My heart now beats a rapid pace,
cold shivers grip my spine
Escaping breath, no steps to trace,
don't even know what's mine
A rustle neath the thicket dense,
it scurries past my feet
I stop and turn, in my defense,
now praying for retreat
Oh why, I wonder, have I strode,
this eerie, ghostly way
A shortcut to my own abode,
I’ve traveled on by day
When then above, the faintest glow,
appears behind the mist,
The moon, now full, begins to show,
“Not now,” my screams insist
My skin it rips, expanding burn,
I howl through sharpened teeth
Long scraggy hair, a hungry yearn,
my soul of no relief
With eyes, now such a larger size,
much easier to see
And ears so huge, it's no surprise,
I'm hearing perfectly
On fours, I crawl, through forest thick
when then, a blanket thrown
A trap, I yell, a dirty trick,
come out, I say, be shown
A granny's quilt, that's how it feels,
so heavy, woven tight
It's thick with dust, it now reveals
that something isn't right
I toss the cover from my head,
a ripping, tearing, scream
Its then I tumble out of bed,
my word, it’s just a dream
Well, that’ll teach me, teach me good,
this thought I’ll have to keep,
Do not read, “Little Red Riding Hood”
before I go to sleep
Written for: Scary Stories Cash Prize Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Crystol Woods
Categories:
sharpened, scary,
Form:
Rhyme
Today I thought I lost my keys
And knowing what’s at stake,
I searched like crazy, but my husband
Took them by mistake.
An hour later, for a class
Of quilting, I was stopped
When my ruler disappeared
Until I noticed it had dropped.
The class complete, I headed
For a shady bench outside
To write my poem, but where’s
My favorite pencil gone to hide?
It isn’t in my bag
And always has a sharpened point.
I looked in each compartment;
Now I’m really out of joint.
A day like this with many things
I cannot seem to find
Makes me hope it’s not a warning
I’m about to lose my mind.
Categories:
sharpened, me, today,
Form:
Rhyme
When streams of paper roses,
bleed bitter fragrances,
evil mists of leaves slowly fall,
drifting along autumnal
breeze of yesterdays.
And i question
unseen dirt trapped
between sharpened thorns:
what if the sun,
at the end of your horizon,
seems brighter
than the skies in my mind?
What if days are a little longer
than the spoonful of quiet nights
you’ve fought?
Would you still paint
hollow bones of every skeleton
in your glass closet,
with black and white traces
flickering through
sociopathic holes and into
the windows of your rusted soul?
But what if, all this time,
you’ve been seeing silver linings
through ruby tinted glasses,
whilst steadying
your befogged sight with the core
of the devil’s unspoken mantras?
Maybe, the fault is in what flows
beneath your thick flesh,
that refuses to let redolent air
to rush in,
unless wicked winds
orchestrate songs of your
delusional manifestation.
So unlock the rails of
your iron heart,
follow me to the fields
of fluorescent fuchsias;
for I’ve always dared
to speak invisible visions
of my scarlet desires,
as I run with teal green wildflowers,
where pleasure spells my name
across lawns
in soft lavender dusks.
I fear no mourning monsters
dressed in golden feathers;
virtual vultures
speaking in demonic dialects,
waltzing with energy vampires.
They pretend to be angels
of cyan eden, oblivious
to the burning hell they reek,
exhaling scripted sentiments
of sanctimonious metaphors.
Whilst rhyming with a
cruel conscience,
seeking for meaningless endings.
They craft empty
expressions in
ghostly recitations,
revised to ruin
every starry sphere,
where achromatic ink-sanity,
remains reluctant to
follow me and my moon.
Categories:
sharpened, dark, deep, feelings, meaningful,
Form:
Free verse
A Trek Into A Forest Wonderfully Deep,
(New Dawn- Second Battle, Part Two)
This vista, newfound view image of divine scene
fertile virgin ground, pretty as a peacock's preen
born of inked splashes, and poet's bleeding blood
flow from deep gashes, paints virgin soil as red-mud.
Nature's true beauty sent to poet's beating heart
illuminated glory at dawn's gifted start
gurgling brook, waters racing into crystal clear lake
sad weeping soul inhales, as much as one can take.
Morning trek, my how such a change the mind renews
once a train wreck, now healing beneath sky blue
All aghast, miracle that comes as divine gift
life changing wonders sent so fast, sent to uplift.
This vista, newfound view image of divine scene.
Fertile virgin ground, pretty as a peacock's preen.
Robert J. Lindley, 10-19-2019
Sonnet, ( The Second Battle-- Part Two)
Note: I rose from bed early. By 6 am I was 8 miles away,
walking into the deep woods. Therapy for a soul that was
in deep blues, seeking an answer to how to fight this dark
and its beasts that it so uses. Mother Nature spoke, saying-
to poet soldier, this such savages can never truly see. Watch
as I gift you such deeper sight. As I saw images that I never
had seen before. I realized, my deep blues were trivial and
a temporary lapse on my part. As once I knew we mortals
too oft fall pray to the destructive voices of the minions of
darkness and its infinitely wicked rage. Arriving home,
mere minutes later sipping hot coffee on my front porch.
Nature spoke from my front yard as a squirrel climbed down
from an oak tree fifteen feet away-- looked at me and chattered
away for about three minutes! Then I understood, too oft we
forget to fight! Coffee drank, into my den , my sword ,sharpened
anew. This the second battle commenced and ink splashed to defeat
an enemy that never ever sleeps, and never ever gives any mercy
to its foes... And so the cycle continues.......
Categories:
sharpened, appreciation, art, conflict, dark,
Form:
Sonnet
Winds caressing fringes of
her deep chocolate tresses
as tree nymphs nimbly hid
midst fallen maple leaves
happily prancing round toes,
whilst a crescendo of chimes
played off in near distances,
warm apple pie aroma wafting
upon a zephyr tickling her nose,
unfastened her reddish cloak
for her e'er plunging neckline
exposed an ample décolletage
voluptuously heaving in broad
daylight waiting to seduce a crafty
wolf in sheep's clothing she had afore
encountered on the way to grannies,
called ahead to make reservations
for her & handsome knighted chef
hiding amidst the dark forest with
his trusty sharpened butcher knife,
had acquired Wolfgang Puck's
wickedly-satisfying secret recipe
for savory pack-of-wolves stew
Li'l Reddish Revenge is a dish best served cold-blooded with liberal
scads of punitive napkins and a bottle of vindictively chilled Chianti
Categories:
sharpened, allegory, fantasy, hero, humorous,
Form:
Epic