Best Stoutly Poems
The Goddess Of Blessed Redemption
She gave me a foundation of love's pleasures
complete with wondrous bountiful measures
she a gentle goddess of golden hues,
swept this heart away, vanquished all its blues.
From a verdant forest spring she arrived
relieving me of life sadly contrived.
None other could love and give any more,
she a goddess sent from paradise shore.
When asked why she came to me to now bless
no words came, my sins too sad to confess.
Yet her Light and Grace healed this broken soul
for this world had taken its heavy toll.
Of Asclepius* blood, healing her art,
body, soul and mind, first target the heart,
faithful daughter, resplendent her warm glow
sent to heal and allow this soul to grow.
She freed my body from its scars and burns
from ghosts of past buried in hidden urns,
the mind confused by treachery and lies
and the soul ready to face its demise.
Her enchanted charm revived my delight
to view the world in a generous light,
for the mind to stand firm, no longer wilt,
with redemption free the burden of guilt.
Once a broken man, forsaken lost soul,
I now stand stoutly with a heart that’s whole.
With Apollo’s blood vibrant are my veins,
by lease of life, released from morbid chains.
Verve restored by Aceso’s healing might
with radiance to end my sorry plight.
Healed with love in atonement of past crimes
with kindness I share life’s eternal chimes.
Collaboration by Robert J. Lindley and Teppo Gren
7-05-2018
(1.) Asclepius*, see note above..
(2.) Aceso’s , ( Aceso (the goddess of the healing process )
(3.)Apollo- Greek Mythology -
Apollo was one of the most versatile of the Greek gods. His domains extended from poetry and music, to light and truth, and archery.
His mother was the Titan Leto, whose tryst with Zeus angered Hera. The Queen of the Gods tormented Leto, sending the monster Python to chase her across the whole world so she could find no safe space to bear her children. However, Leto found safe haven on the isle of Delos and gave birth to Artemis and then Apollo.
*****
Note- With deep gratitude I present this collaboration written with my good friend Teppo Gren. A wonderful friend and truly amazing poet. A sonnet master that awes me with every poem he posts..
On earth I know of no such taste,
No nectar of the Gods so chaste,
So pure, so gentle, full of grace;
As my true love, tomato paste.
Good “ketchup”, as you’re widely known
Wouldst that I could all thee own;
Round thee, ketchup, I’m thy drone;
Ascend thee to thy regal throne.
In bottle, you with bright, red sheen,
You beckon like a harlot queen,
And oh, my heart is swiftly keened,
Like babes to mothers wean.
The bottle tipped, thy rich, red ooze
Slips forth like soft and tumbling glues,
And marvel I. Yet I must choose
T’annoint the heads of sleeping foods:
‘Pon fish or chips or stoutly steak
Thy blessing might I deign to make,
And slowly o’er them thou dost snake
In anacondic swirls and takes.
I praise thee, ketchup, and I haste
To glory at thy noble taste:
‘Pon my tongue you swiftly chase
My tingling taste buds, and you race –
O’er my teeth you blood-like flow
‘til all my senses rush to know
Thy rich and red and warmly glow
- - and so!
O ketchup, thou art garnish queen
And thou art gracious food supreme,
Companion thou hast often been
To many foods of lesser mien.
And this I know, dear ketchup, yet
Have I in faith, one great regret:
Though I and you in love are set,
. . . my wife and you are in dissent.
Must our affair be clandestine?
Must I be forced to steal and hide
My fuller portion on the side
Of mashed potatoes, shrimp, or pie?
No, ketchup no: I know that I
With such deceit cannot comply;
Choose I must ‘tween thou and my
Belov’d . . . oh how I cry.
Yet wed so long, I must confess
When “pass the ketchup” is address’d
No more my hand will serve excess,
. . . but my dear heart will cry no less.
("Noh" is an ancient Japanese style of
drama, broadly similar to Elizabethan
tragedy. "The Wind in the Pines" is
my version of a well-known Noh play.)
1. The Buddhist Priest
This was the day of the White Crane.
I was walking from Kyoto to fair Kobe,
and not omitting a single shrine,
now nearing the end of my three-day journey.
The morning had taken on a hue
of pastel. I reached a promontory, above the sea
with curious roadside ancestor tombs,
slabs of coarse stone. The wind
and waves, so restless, had done their work,
scarring and scarifying the soft chalk,
leaving strange columns, each capped
by its crude ashlar memorial tablet.
As I prayed to the dead, my bare head
was lifted. My gaze (no longer mine)
was drawn towards a tall pine,
standing alone, its trunk bifurcated.
That tree, I felt somehow, had waited
for me to come. Looking about me,
I saw a peasant, short and stoutly
built. "Tell me about the tree,"
I said. "And what's that poetry?
That hanging plaque?" He said I'd found
something special. "This is hallowed ground,"
he muttered. "Matsukaze and her sister
Murasame mourned here, Mister.
Then Heaven took pity on the two brine
girls, and turned them into this pine."
By mortal things, we should set no store:
but hearing this, I wanted to know more.
Love rang my heart where I rebuffed her advances, hoping to heighten the longing love felt despite my fickle indifference, complacency and obstination. Love walked away and stoutly locked her door hermetically. I rue my puerile procrastination...
Love slips into longing
hearts quiet, unheard, unseen
until it vanishes.
He would have dissolved the congress party
Would have stopped at once all its festivity
Certainly would have gone on hunger strike
And, would have, launched a blistering attack.
He would have wholly banned the sacred khadi
That some time ago symbolized utmost sanctity
According to him it stood for human dignity
And no present day politician is found worthy.
He would have removed all sorts of reservations
And would have urged people to spurn such sops
Encouraged developing self respect minus props
To earn bread thro’ honest labor of sweat drops.
He promptly would have stopped all pensions
At the moment enjoyed by the freedom-fighters
Would have told them to return the allowances
As serving the motherland calls for great sacrifices.
He would have fought against all injustices
Would have put full stop to discriminations
Which divide the people and the human race
And create a schism in a fragile social order.
He would have banned entry of all the Mnc’s
And encouraged forcefully all rural industries
Making the village development a focal point
That aims for growth and banishes unemployment.
He would have stoutly advocated family planning
Convincing the public to practice non-indulgence
To help the nation prosper with self-reliance
And avoid facing consequences of dependence.
The state of affairs is so stomach-churning today
It is good that he attained martyrdom on that day
Were he alive to witness the present day nonsense
He might have sought the slayer pleading death.
Velvety soft petals of three or four,
basking in the richness of emerald green
Through legends spoken I've heard before,
yet, in a valley I have never seen.
A rainbow arches across the sky,
at it's very end the mystical pot o gold
I've wondered where the riches lie,
at the end the colors bright and bold
Little men, shillelagh in hand,
with bearded face and rosy nose
this fellow from a magical land,
how quickly that, he comes and goes
With Pubs with taps of stoutly ale,
where the Gaelic music plays
you can hear a very hearty tale,
of the simple Irish ways
Someday, I'll travel to the Isle,
to the land of Emerald Green
like a Leprechaun, with wink and smile,
that's where I'd like to be
Something insists I won’t live to see
Former enemies achieving tranquility.
There exists the thorn of human pride
That sets with certainty civility aside.
It has ever been so and will not end
One’s precious ego to stoutly defend.
But what if a victor is proven right
Won’t it be forgotten and out of sight?
What waste we make behaving so.
Why should maturity be slow to grow?
Yet upon second-thought reflection
My angst is absent a sense of direction.
“Opposition is needed in all things”—
That faith-based claim in memory rings.
I was taught it early as a guileless lad.
“You can’t value good without the bad.”
Now with wits restored to their place,
I humbly cut slack for the human race.
We are creatures fashioned by His hand.
Every thorn tells what we will withstand.
Will we prove valiant, faithful, and true
Doing all Christ commanded us to do?
If so, oh joy, to be spiritually reborn
To overcome the world and every thorn.
In the stillness of day I stoutly wait
With cool breeze sending shiver down my spine
The thought of you warms my idle figure
As nightfall approaches with much fervor
Such a delight when your arms reach me out
And pin me close to your body at night
Listening closely to your heart’s desire
Your thoughts so vivid as you clutch me tight
Night-time rejoices when you jump for joy
Your bubbly smile makes me feel so alive
But gloomy at times when your heart cries out
Pour out all your tears and I’ll wipe it dry
Your fears I feel of what is yet to come
Ease your mind on the softness of my touch
As I cradle your body in comfort
A good rest and sleep will be yours tonight
4 Feb 2018
I
My five-five-fingers of my hands
Zestfully lived In serenity.
The three thrill fingers of my right hand:
Thumb, index finger and middle finger
Stoutly lived civilly and gleefully
Amongst her BROTHERS:
They rested gleefully upon the placid,
SHARP-SABLE-POINTED-DART.
II
Sharp-sable-pointed-dart;
Perched in the midst of the three thrill fingers
And laid rest upon the hungry,
Virgin DUSKY-SHEET, which sprawled
Bear flat on the glossy desk.
The glossy desk accompanying the earth
The earth accompanying its depth.
III
The other two fingers of my right hand:
Ring finger and little finger
Calmly leisure, plopped on the hungry,
virgin dusky-sheet
And lent ears to the sharp-sable-pointed-dart,
Sharp-sable-pointed-dart,
Muttering vignettes of yesterday
Muttering vignettes of today
Muttering vegnettes of tomorrow.
Upon the glossy desk
My five fingers of my left hand too
Laid rest, and eyeballed the sharp-sable-pointed-dart,
Muttering deep thoughts.
IV
Look,
All you who waded through lines:
All you who unearth the heart
Of this earth, hunting for treasures
Pore over my ten fingers.
My ten fingers,
As pure as a full virgin moon.
I have dunked deep my five fingers
Of my right hand with my progenitors
In a bowl of sweet dishes
And nibbled singed YAMS amidst
The thriving vegetables.
V
But my forefinger of my left hand
Never been raised above
To curse the heavens
Never been raised up to pinpoint
My progenitors' homeland
Never had it tasted any depravity
And never will it be licked
Or bit by the savage butchers of Meat
Who loved to fatten themselves on murder
And gratified their heart with
Juicy cup of blood and gore.
© Martins Tomisin 2016
There once was a boss who was bald
yet thought himself stoutly ribald.
The dweebs who worked for him
were hairy and liked gin.
Was not news to hear that boss falled.
Up,but Down…Part-1
This bus old as this rutted road
Panting to haul its sweaty load
Moves along the steep gradient
Of these hills stoutly determined
Raising to heights which although small
Are far like aeons beyond recall
To the place men and maps from yore
Call by a name now part of lore
It stops and ejects a lone man
Bearded, forlorn, bag and baggage
A petty forest official
Perhaps on punishment transfer
To these hills, unfeeling and cold
Where his ticket has taken him
Which could take him no further, no less
Away far away from sweet home
To where it’s for predators home.
It turns left, heaves off a U-turn
Climbs on to a conglomeration
Of tenements of refugees
From a strife-torn island, whose hopes
Are holding breath in another land
Uprooted amidst the rooted
All at sea amidst hardy rocks.
And returns to the highway where
The forest man still stands rooted
Aghast where he was offloaded
Like one of those gaunt and old trees
Failing to find his way to those
Who came before, missing the link
With the before and with the now.
Once Submerged Beneath The Dark, Accursed Sea
Darkened winds beyond the long and hidden veil,
Rising sea its calm repose then casts away,
From some distance away, moaning church bell
Calling faithful and sinners, come lets pray
Tho' Fate with its power cries more in store
Here I stood, stoutly battling the unknown
With feeble words, I did each plea implore
For greater mercy and light to be shown.
Horrific dark power blasts heart and soul
Curse given out by death's repugnant hand
Raging waters swirl, bringing Fated toll
Painful cuts slash beauty of all the land
Fate with its power cries such shall be so
And mortals shall then fear my awesome wrath
At birth each is destined to soon go
Beyond the veil on a mystery path.
Although the defiant this end may cry
And with bravado seek to change that course
None, nary one Fated ending defy
Beyond the veil, all dreams flesh must divorce
Thus I stood, sword broken shield cast away
Mere flesh raging against eternity
Then the bell rang, sounding, come here to pray
For light and truth offers infinity.
Robert J. Lindley, 3-19-2022
Rhyme, ( Praying To Again Embrace The Much Needed Light )
Those strands of grey on your temples
Creased brows in a smirch stained plea,
Those dark circles around your eyes
I know they have come for me.
Those gallons that you have sweated
Managing our home and hearth,
Endless pains you have writhed in
Since the time you gave me birth.
Can vouch for the wrinkles many
That line your beautiful face,
That hurtful quiver of your lips
You lovingly veiled with grace.
Those coarse varicose hands of yours
From toil and labors of home,
Affections I took for granted
Your needs buried by a gnome.
I reminisce your scolding harshly
Leaving home in irate din,
Not knowing the pain I caused you
And how your heart bled within.
Your lap so comforting and warm
Whereupon I soundly slept,
But never did I care for times,
When you have silently wept.
All my failures you stoutly bore
While you kept me in your shade,
But those little follies of yours
Ugly hills of them I had made.
You cried with me when I was hurt
Smiled when was joyous with glee,
You held me close to your bosom
When I saw my shadow flee.
I know your loving tender touch
Your pride at my growing so,
You have held me deep in heart
Though times I took you as foe.
Wish had loved you more than I did
Grave folly this life of mine,
Yet, you have ever forgiven
Saying, that I've always been thine.
Have never seen the face of God
Yet I know how he would be,
When I gaze at your gentle eyes,
He peeps through them at me.
***********
Orange is reminiscent of the sound of thunder, of muted drums,
Dissonant in nature, like the call of distant, broken trumpets.
Severely caustic, rather scathing in its delivery of
A burning sound, crackling and popping, as if the
Brass breathed black embers...
Orange is a color that embodies a brutality,
A roughness and an edge that is
Unmatched by the RAINBOW.
And the other colors seem to halt and stare at its
Bluntness, its assertiveness and its ferocious voice,
Gravely and deep.
Orange is reminiscent of the sound of roaring trains
Emits a sort of glowing dominance, of arrogance--
Its sharpness of tone allows for precision and mastery.
It is more a color than the rest of the colors, for in its vibrancy
There is a youthful proclamation of hope that is gilded by
A solid realism. It hopes loudly but stoutly refuses prayer.
In orange's stoic presence, its voice like
Battering rams and clashing pans, it demand, no it
STEALS a presence. Yet in its arrogance, there is a
Resilience, a persistence, for
Orange is a color reminiscent of the Gods
And in its faults lies its power.
Dead sores and bruised toes
Up and down the silent shores
Cuts deep, drilled by poisonous foes
In and out of dungeons and dangerous holes
Skeletal thin; hardly covered with skin
Shallow faced and hollowed cheeks up my chin
Been traveling in deserts violent and mean
Sad nights, weirdly pitch black and dim
Up, through and under misty mountains void of life
Stumbling and falling I walked on in the dearth of light
Now torn garments and a skeletal shadow braces my sight
Startling and bearing witness to the consequences of my fight
With bruised toes and sores thus I come
With deep cuts drilled by foes, I arrive home
Past misty mountains, through, up and above
I stoutly come home with love