Best Stouter Poems
What Holds More Resplendent Gifts Of The Great And Vast Beyond
Seas of poetry orations, I once took my swims
being strong in spirit, stouter in heart and lithe of limbs
What dread had I of illness or passage of Father Time
when great beauty of verse sang so deep, dancing in its rhyme
Waves of its amber grains, its sandy beach, its great pleasures
stirred heart, pleading soul in immeasurable measures!
If tired, I cast myself upon lands flowing true and fair
seeing magnificence in Earth, Life, Nature- everywhere
Before dawn, before slumber flees this soul's poetry dreams
of paradise shores, poetic thoughts, soft cast golden beams
Winds of change and sublime words to describe and thus to match
castles of hope, beauty's grace and golden eggs- set to hatch!
Fearing not of, high flying fancies and heavenly flights
of lost romantic desires, cast adrift on stormy nights
Or that of abandoned ships left behind in gleaming seas
for poetry gifts its love and blessings of granted pleas
Bountiful harvests of word-seeds so pleasurably sown
are but summer days sending cool winds so gratefully blown!
What holds more resplendent gifts of the great and vast beyond
than poetry, its powers, which poets are so very fond
How its paintings, colors memories one sweetly recalls
of life, living and flames of hot-romance youth often falls
Beyond poetic seas of white-cropped waves and foaming foam
may this old poet's soul, in death, forever gaily roam!
Robert J. Lindley, 12-03-2018
Rhyme, (Inspired verse) (Poetry is Life and Treasure too)
Note- I dedicate this poem to my very good friend Susan Ashley and her wondrously inspiring new poem that inspired me to write this today.
Her new poem titled, The Red Leaf- set me to thinking of its beautiful poetry
and life. And how much poetry means to so many dedicated and in love with poetry poets!
I sat down and this flowed right on out, early this morn.
Note: Use in my poem of "white-cropped" = "white" for good, "cropped" for "appearing unexpectedly".
Thus translated- beyond poetic seas of = unexpectedly good waves and foaming foam.
Definition of “crop up” - English Dictionary
American
English
“crop up” in American English
See all translations
crop up
-pp-
— phrasal verb with crop US ? /kr?p/ verb [ T ] -pp-
?to happen or appear unexpectedly:
My pearl of great price,
Will not be a sacrifice,
The love of my life,
My sacred wife,
Her named is Pearl,
She will have nothing to do with Earl,
Of the carnal world,
For she is strictly, My Pearl!
She is my wife ,
The wife of my life,
I married her when I divorced my youthful wife,
Of my mind’s strife!
She is the wife of my old age,
She has let my soul out of mind’s cage,
I didn’t meet her in my tender age,
I was not ready to hear her page!
When you personally find,
One of this kind,
A pearl of great price,
Pursue her for your wife,
By giving up your mind’s strife!
For she will not mate,
With an ego's persona of hate,
Neither will you enter into her narrow gate!
She is preserved,
For love, that deserves,
A husband named Freddy,
A soul in love that is ready,
So sweep your floor,
And weep no more,
Your pearl will open her door,
When she is totally shore,
You’re not looking back,
Toward the sack,
Of the mind’s scarlet,
Harlot!
Personally, I’ll do my part,
From my heart,
From the inner world,
Of my pearl,
For she is my Girl!
For the outer girl,
Of the world,
Is no pearl,
For she is a pigeon pouter,
Of the outer,
And thinks she is stouter,
In the outer,
World with Earl!
While the pearl of great price,
Has no vice
And she is meek,
But certainly not weak,
Very able to keep,
The soul of her man,
Within God’s plan!
Pearl’s inner meekness,
Does not mean weakness,
For it is the band,
without which a man,
Would not have substance of love,
From above!
Now when the mind learns to be meek,
Within his soul, he will seek,
Pearl's,
Inner world!
Time will,
Stand still,
Inside Pearl's real,
Deal,
And love will be fulfilled,
Within my Pearl’s inner world!
4-27-09 johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com
~~~
Sunlight sweeps above the dale, while shades of Heather lift their veil
Then gentle mist of morning swirls, enhancing dawn with nature's pearls
~
Songbird's flight encircles glen, to spot late crawler's search for den
Yet...
Not all that dwells in understory, hides this day... this day's their glory
~
The songbirds flee... the piper grins
"Far Darrig O'Malice yer at it again"
The silence broke
the wildwoods rustle
from near and far, the wee ones hustle
~
The songs roll out
the barrels too
the leprechauns abandon shoe
They all break out one piece of gold, to waste before their play grows cold
~
They barter sheep while lifting hogs
They saddle ... ride ... the farmer's dogs
And all the while they laugh and shout, they never spill their mugs of stout
~
The Cluricauns with stouter trumpet, descend the town... subdue the strumpet
Spend their purse to chase romance
the quean much slicker, steals their pants
~
Within the glen with dusk's approach, the smoke gets thick as suppers roast
The music swirls, the echoes sail, the dancers chant an Irish tale
~
An those with naked butts are taught... they stop, it gives the bugs a shot
Far Darrigs crawl beneath the kegs, they pop the corks and fill their legs
~
St. Patrick's blessed another year
The sound of snoring
now all you hear
~~~
I cannot say with any certainty
why it came to me, then, there,
but it came to me
unexpected as birth.
The kitchen was bright as the summer
and comfortable as the paving
next to the swimming pool.
Our hosts were pleasant as we were,
the conversation pleasant as our hosts
as pleasant as we were.
Yet somehow it came to me
that there might be a man at the table
unpleasant and angry as life itself,
and somehow it came to me
that he might be me.
I didn't like him much
but I wouldn't dare tell him,
he was far too unpleasant and angry,
I'd seen his kind before.
He was shorter and stouter than I would be
but he might be me.
He was made of muscle and malice
and maybe some contraband too.
He had a mohawk, or something not far off,
they'd not been seen much
in polite society, not yet.
If it was good enough for Mr T
it was good enough for a swaggering bandit
returning from prison, or from the war,
or a crack-house on the fringes of midnight.
He ranted some, he spat it out with relish.
I'm not sure who he ranted at
but he ranted, maybe at everyone.
He may have ranted at me just a little,
perhaps because I let him,
but if you'd met him you would have too.
13th July 2018
What do you see when you see trees?
My eyes travel each trunk and branch.
With feathered leaves in blowing breeze
till the chipper comes with a cranch!
Your details shine with luminescence -
I eschew detail for the essence.
In trees, I just see nature's grace -
' Tis beautiful, like your face!
And then a breath of sweet surcease
as he offered a glance her way –
love and roses budding
Roses die and love will end, so who'll cut the string whereon I suspend?
When a poet puppet dies, it's a smorgasbord for the flies.
I heard that death was coming to you
from the silence right out of the blue.
From whence this sound had come I wondered?
A strange comment from out of the blue.
I turned and saw the apparition.
Why does death come right out of the blue?
Then I saw upon its face a smile
so frightening right out of the blue!
Its jarring humor not surprising.
Its dark soul came from out of the blue.
Ah, I think that I finally see -
Your attention to features and finesse
Sets apart your exquisite poetry,
Such is your eloquent loveliness.
I hope to aspire to the lofty summit,
Choosing words to embellish and describe.
No more, to bland language will I plummet -
From a fountain of words I will imbibe.
Intoxicated in language, enchanting,
Expressing every charming nuance,
Exactly rhyming, evading slanting,
Shall we wax in an enthralling séance?
Now I have been enlightened, let us spin
A verbal tapestry - can we begin?
We could just call the whole thing off,
as we each grab beers for a quaff.
You say potato.
I say tomato.
Is it really worth our scoff?
Ah, beers, is an idea I can accept -
At drinking, not poetry, I'm more adept.
After all this rhyming, I've had enough,
But I think now I'll need some stouter stuff!
What do you see when you see trees?
My eyes travel each trunk and branch.
With feathered leaves in blowing breeze
till the chipper comes with a cranch!
Your details shine with luminescence -
I eschew detail for the essence.
In trees, I just see nature's grace -
' Tis beautiful, like your face!
And then a breath of sweet surcease
as he offered a glance her way –
love and roses budding
Roses die and love will end, so who'll cut the string whereon I suspend?
When a poet puppet dies, it's a smorgasbord for the flies.
I heard that death was coming to you
from the silence right out of the blue.
From whence this sound had come I wondered?
A strange comment from out of the blue.
I turned and saw the apparition.
Why does death come right out of the blue?
Then I saw upon its face a smile
so frightening right out of the blue!
Its jarring humor not surprising.
Its dark soul came from out of the blue.
Ah, I think that I finally see -
Your attention to features and finesse
Sets apart your exquisite poetry,
Such is your eloquent loveliness.
I hope to aspire to the lofty summit,
Choosing words to embellish and describe.
No more, to bland language will I plummet -
From a fountain of words, I will imbibe.
Intoxicated in language, enchanting,
Expressing every charming nuance,
Exactly rhyming, evading slanting,
Shall we wax in an enthralling séance?
Now I have been enlightened, let us spin
A verbal tapestry - can we begin?
We could just call the whole thing off,
as we each grab beers for a quaff.
You say potato.
I say tomato.
Is it really worth our scoff?
Ah, beers, is an idea I can accept -
At drinking, not poetry, I'm more adept.
After all this rhyming, I've had enough,
But I think now I'll need some stouter stuff!
James was his church’s bell ringer
Some would listen and linger.
To make the bell louder
James became stouter.
Now he’s known as a real humdinger.
Vast skies, the tiny drop’s soul now ascending
Dying, to heaven helplessly heading
On the ground,a corps, dried, into vapor turning.
Hard-hearted heat, its flesh mercilessly still biting.
A condoling cloud the driblet’s life saving
Caring,on its back with compassion carrying
Fleshier, stouter ,stronger everyday growing
Looking down revenge on earthlings swearing.
The driblet, now a monstrous Armada proudly admiring
Ruthless mercenaries from all lands continuously levying
A rumbling cloud to the battlefield majestically riding
Over the village endlessly roaming, the enemy feverishly skulking.
Thick icy mist from above came down swirling
To their nests alarmed birds hurriedly sending
Silence the defenceless, scared village invading
Dribs in thundering rage down their whole selves hurling
Roads, paths, streams every means taking
To the big river in floods ,All hankering
There, the driblet its pongos eagerly waiting
A demonic, resentful revenge that night caballing
Into a cruel monster, the river now swelling
Silently around the village sneaking
Leaves in trees rustling, doors suddenly creaking
The bugle then reached the villager’s hearing
Dayspring, cadaverous,pale faces in icy waters wading.
Behind , carrion, felled homes leaving.
Cherubs in shivering, sapless hands carrying.
Warmth, a dry offered hand seeking.
Now we are in a battle turf
A big warfare is on its way,
Whole world has been sobbing
We lost all the hope of ray.
People have been dying like creature
Human chain becoming so weedy,
A country with no army no force
striving worst with its enemy.
The pandemic virus roaring like lion
Running here and there in the jungle,
In the sweltering lap of perilous death
We are waiting like deer for a miracle.
It is a war between human vs COVID
Where human army got collapsed,
It forces me to reminisce the facts
A tiny ant is stouter than elephant.
I agree, there is a rise after every fall
And a lax leer after every vicious yell,
If we will fight hard with prudent hand
I am sure, God is there to ring divine bell.
One fine late midnight coils back the whole universe
And asks me in eager voice, what is the source of the race of man?
In sotto voice i whisper in his ears that it is God who created Adam first
Infuriated he becomes and rushed down with a loud bang
And spread all over like a huge carpet as if there is no end
Meanwhile he, in an isolated island, met with a bearded man
And learnt from him who learnt from a pecking woodcutter
That its beak is longer, sharper and stouter than rest of the birds
And this happens due to his repeated pecking
And he pecks repeatedly to fit in the policy of survival of the fittest
So far so nice except the mercilessness of the strong
In killing plundering and invading whoever is poor and weak
Here is not the end of the story;
It gave the breaded man more, a great hint
That life struggles to survive and struggling evolves into evolution
Pay attention to the great game, the race man is not from the race of man
Man is from monkey, so, all the monkeys are our forefathers
There is nothing wrong in it,
After all we are all respectful to our ancestors,
Sorry, to lovely monkeys except human beings.
Till this turn of logic there is no darkness
No end of the world,
We are only sons and daughters of monkeys and not the *****.
But there is a huge problem to the universe
Being confused he crawls secretly into my rooms before the night’s death
And charged me red faced why did I tell him a lie?
No, i did not tell you a lie, I answer
In fact we are both correct, he tells his story and I tell mine
Foam is formed--A shape appears.
It seems to be a boat---An upside down boat-
Glass is cut ---Resin is spread,
Becoming stouter with every hour,
Layer after Layer---Role after Role.
She is flipped with care
Hanging cradled in the air.
Lift and turn and flip—
Please don’t fall.
There she sits—sheer beauty.
Upside right, for the first time.
The man next to her has waited-
Since he was eight--To build a dream.
Work and perseverance with Gallons
Of sweat and many ounces of tears,
Have a catalyst effect because
She is sleek perfection just like
The Pride on her captain's face.
She will hibernate and lay in wait--
To awake in the spring and
Float the Cook Inlet…for all to see…
The Catch 22 has arrived…with her Captain at her side.
I must have marched the Appian Way
in triumph, for I hear the drums again,
and I am called by stouter hearts
to march among the men
who make their peace with death
and breathe it in the fight,
as seeping blood might feed
their lust through the exploding night.
I want to feel the shiver on my spine
when cannon steel
tears into quivering flesh
before white flags might interfere
and steal what now is mine.
Oh yes, I tremble too
when sallow men negotiate.
I will have none of that.
I want to be a patriot
before it is too late.
Lord, make for me an enemy
that I can love to hate.
~
I love it when the flowers
Talk to one another.
They don’t use formal greetings;
Call each other sister or brother.
They talk about the weather
And their need of rainwater,
But they never complain
Should others’ stems be stouter.
They whisper sweet nothings
And perfume the air.
None of them grumble,
Or their perfumes compare.
They look for the butterflies
To take their pollen far away,
So more flowers will grow
In a similar, healthy way.
They praise each other
For their beauty and grace,
Even when some hide
And others can’t see their face.
They are kind to one another;
They live in the same garden.
Their words are always sweet;
No unkindness to pardon.
Flowers sometimes sing,
But we can’t hear their song.
And even if we could,
To the flowers we’d belong.
They cry when some die,
But their smiles soon return,
When new buds blossom
And Flower Talk they learn.
Poor man down and out
Set aside like trash at
A cold curb left
To wonder about how
Life so promising
And glee, could gray
Into thick black haze
Of somber dream
And waking nightmare
Where hunger live stout
And doubt stouter still
Each nights' eternity
Coolly serves reminder
Hope is beyond,
Far beyond...
This concrete laced lot.
I've struck a snag after a long develops steps.
To a recent attitude over alliance depth,
I investigate this frightening atmosphere.
On top, winning expresses me insecure.
Because of my hearty assurance, I'm here today.
Divine grace has favored us for countless days.
I'm ailing back running with my unique mindset.
God, the Divine, contrives a chart for us, don't fret.
I can't travel to this area alone or by potent force.
It's all mercury; there's subtly nothing else sparse.
I'm defenseless to impact or succumb to anybody.
Every day, there is solely a requisite mission boldly.
But I'm evenly a pebble and embody no braw feeling.
Conception utterly lingers the power of God's crafting.
Despite our slightness, shapes harbor an awful misgiving.
In our style-driven culture, inner self-fosters are laying.
The fence of affection grows stouter as unfolding.
The Lord has appropriately arranged everything.
We are more poised than we reckon and form sound.
A wall that set us free, not the myriad way around.
Written: December 19, 2021