Best Thy Poems
Sir Poet, Hold True To Thy Gifts Long Given
Sir poet, why hast thy broken thy true pen?
Are not thy words intended to help and heal?
Pray thee, returneth to world of gentle men,
Let both thy mind and fevered blood softly spill!
Sir poet, why hast thy burned thy greatest writes?
Are not thy word-gifts bearing much needed fruits?
Pray thee, this sad, dark world sees thy ink-bright lights,
Begs thy kind soul return to poetic roots!
Sir poet, write deep to heal thy wounded heart
Embrace yet again, thy soul's truest call to arms
Find thy calling, begin an earnest restart,
Seek thee to help not this rash act that so harms.
Sir poet, hold true to thy gifts long given
Join again, poet's rewards in true liven'.
R.J. Lindley
Sonnet (11)
Jan. 20th 1990
Syllables Per Line: 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11
Total # Syllables: 154
Total # Words: 122
L i f e
a prison of pretense
and I still dream of
walking through tempests of chaos
barefoot,
allowing stones and pebbles
to tattoo my languid skin with love in lilac,
as ashes of yesterday
erase the thunder marks
that struck my spine
in ruthless rhythm,
oblivious to the scorching solitude
that swallowed the stars
swaying across the heinous horizon.
Trusting the tormentor,
dancing with the devil,
as I drink from the naive springs,
like a jailed jasmine,
to Stockholm syndrome.
I’ve heard the crickets croon,
I’ve felt the warmth of raining tears,
while w a i t i n g
w i s h i n g
upon pirouetting peridots~
a trick played by Lucifer,
as peace is a lie
fed from the serpentine scent of sunlight
that tastes like mists of malice…
Tonight I kneel
at the chapel of charades,
reminiscing fragmented forests
where I’ve long been
a forbidden lace of Lilith,
cursed by the fickle flames
of the blood moon,
like a tortured sin,
tethered by time…
O divine destiny,
designed with darkness,
see the angst,
veiled amidst contoured clemency
and manicured mercy,
the beginning
of an inevitable end.
I fear not the hereafter~
the realm of redolence and zephyr,
there phrases of regret
shall be a rinsed-away garden,
watered with saffron and amber…
Perhaps
when the last refrain of living
rewinds and repeats,
we’ll reflect
on the circus we performed in sheer naivety…
But would you then~
catch my soul, it’s willing to fly away,
feel my pulse, it emanates freedom,
heed my heart, it sings of love,
seize my ink, it flows with faith,
catch my sigh, it homes compassion,
hold my hand, it seeks kindness…
Hallowed be thy Name
Hallowed be thy Light....
"Thy Beautiful Heart : The Blue Faery’s Baby"
'Tis brave the heart
of a lionhearted cub
When Butterflies
aren’t pretty
Aren’t all what they seem
Monsters that do steal teeth
from the Blue Faery's Baby
A glass jar full of
plundered
precious Pearls
of White Ivory,
not sweet honey bees
The cub
must remember
the power asleep
in thy magic, the
strength of pure
LOVE
Stand firm clasping it to
thy beautiful heart,
thy beautiful heart -
that was borne
from pure love
all of thy
beautiful dreams
to believe
to dream
red life rosy and real
“Walk with courage”,
she heard her say,
"Soft footsteps always follow,
They’ve never walked away,"
"In thy dreams
I guard thee still,
from wolves
and monks
all monsters -
men and women
gone astray"
In that strange
contained place
that place of the Fey,
both are walking
side by side
together
in pure Light,
a strong power,
in conversation
they hold,
deep of the mind,
the two from the Fey
"All will come good
on the morrow
For the
Blue Faery’s Baby,
there is to be
no more bleeding
Black Sorrow
Love, hear me now,
Time is tumbling
Love - pure and strong,
with all of thy
beautiful heart
Time,
tis no more time,
to be borrowed.
Love's kiss
from a mother's
pure heart
breaks forever and now
the Papillon Spell".
(Lovejoy-Burton, August 2018)
for my daughter,
Georgia -
Close your eyes
when you listen to the music...
it adds more power to the spell.
I am always with you. Always.
ALL my Love - Always.
The Blue Faery.
"Conjunto", Symphony for 8 Cellos
PeterRudolfi, Youtube
https://youtu.be/cKEq56mDLg4
I am with you all the way.
Love, Mum.
Drawn to thy beauty, grace rains down;
I choose this drowning than a drought –
Where ten thousand are called mine own;
Yet, deny thee and live without.
Skilled not enough to understand;
Words unheard, find their voice through thee;
As I reach out then find thy hand;
I see light take darkness from me.
Chaos knits together unity:
Thoughts run free, once captive in chains;
Cleansed from fear in thy purity;
Would I leave, canceling such gains?
Thy Silent Thoughts
So beautiful are thy silent thoughts
I would watch thine eyes all day.
There is wonder in them, as the sun's first flash
Through tumult of ocean spray;
In them the shining calm of upland pools
Mirrors the glory round,
And their shadows are the shadows of sweet flowers
Upon the summer ground.
So beautiful are thy silent thoughts
I would watch thine eyes all day;
More beauteous in their silence than the stars,
Than the silent stars, are they.
R. J. Lindley,
November 9th, 1973
Hold Thy Judgment, Truth Is Not So Well Seen
Hold thy judgment, truth is not so well seen,
Thou, that sits in luxuries and decides!
Fate and Time, can both, off the path careen
Into deep hellish dark, that life oft hides
While this teeming world, its course wildly sets,
Mere mortals must walk upon broken glass!
Far too oft, we are forced to take our bets
On when to stop our race, when to fly pass.
If thy heart seeks truth, its binding powers,
Light thee brighter candles, to see life clear.
Walk without fear of black shadow towers
And within thine own heart strive thee to hear,
Striking notes of love's romance sounding clock
Even should it send, that which mind so shocks!
Robert J. Lindley, 4-24-2019
Sonnet, ( Wash Thine Eyes In Clear Streams)
Note- Inspired from a dream I had last night...
Thy Wondrous Life Was As A Butterfly's Brief Stay,
Poets Tribute Series, third poet, John Keats
Poet, where flows tears for thy premature demise
tragic death of thy soft heart, body, gifted soul
majestic verses from a poet truly wise
poems of deep splendor, thy words did so extol.
Thy wondrous Life was as a butterfly's brief stay.
And in thy heart, triumphant was thy sweet word play.
Poet, can praise seep into thy slumbering grave
or upon hearing such voice, does thee seek to rise
and in true caring, thy words again hope to save
by talented hand, let pen scribble out surprise.
Thy wondrous Life was as a butterfly's brief stay.
And in thy heart, triumphant was thy sweet word play.
Poet, does moon's light cast shine into thy abode
as blowing sands of time, thy rest slow ticks away
can spirit, with honor, thy sad story be told
of poet, that Fate's hand, forced thy dear Life thee pay.
Thy wondrous Life was as a butterfly's brief stay.
And in thy heart, triumphant was thy sweet word play.
Poet, not enough we admire from distant time
magnificence of thy genius in golden verse
thy heart once beat in verses heavenly sublime
before death delivered its dark and early curse.
Thy wondrous Life was as a butterfly's brief stay.
And in thy heart, triumphant was thy sweet word play.
Robert J. Lindley, 10-28-2019
Rhyme, ( Tragedy of the death of a young genius and truly brilliant poet )
Abandon Dead Trails And Thy Sybarite Lust
If Nature's earthen-fires thy bosom holds
and thy heart's countenance mind's eye thus sees;
life serves best those adventurously bold,
walking worn paths, resting under its trees.
Seek in truth the great beauty God has made
the opulence of colors in blue skies;
let not dark, thy human empathy degrade
to sorrows that in turn, love's joys deny.
Instead, denude kings of their purple cloaks
and the golden castles they have stolen;
take time to visit regale forest oaks,
ride the rapids of rivers swift and swollen.
Abandon dead trails, thy Sybarite lusts
in Nature's awe, seeking heart there adjusts.
Robert J. Lindley, 8-18-2018
Sonnet, ( Nature's Great Gifts And Its Awesome Healing Powers)
Raven Speak Not To Me, For A Plague Flees Thy Lips
Sadness came, in clumps of ripping hard, smashing waves
as if morbid thoughts could such sorrows ever save,
none but the blind and deaf could know a darker realm
or more lost ship with, blinder captain at the helm.
Yet even in such pains, one must seek out the Light
for the blind can see, if they embrace truest of sight!
Wayfarer now in hideous ancient abodes
mind burning flames, blasts of misery that explodes,
born of the vile demons that plagued Master Poe
from fiery depths they sprang, as savage and dark foe.
What greater black-curse can one thus be forced to bear
or evil that sends monsters that nightly scare?
Raven speak not to me! For plague flees thy lips
weeping soul, prays not to enter such ghastly trips,
save your epic lashings and thy horrific calls
as well as scalding-hot brands from thy torture halls.
We that saw deepest pains, you once sent Master Poe
enter not chambers or beg more accursed shows!
Your friends attack, forcing each soul to further flee
from hell's first dark levels, with its pitiful pleas,
into caverns wicked, filled with flesh eating beasts
with each new arrival cry, more food for our feasts.
Sirens lure fleeing lost souls into black-sea pits
always seeking, more blood, deeper cuts, harder hits!
Raven, thy terror-nights will soon come to end
for in bright flooding lights, I have found a new friend,
stalwart ally, armed with more than long sharp teeth
one whose true faith, will silence thy calls from beneath.
Dawn's shimmering lights, you shall plague me no more
I bow to he, his powers seals your wicked door!
Robert J. Lindley,
Dark Poetry, ( Poe, Raven and Nightmares)
12-18-2018
To The God of Poetry, Gift Thy Loving Kiss
To the God of Poetry, I this beg
extend thy helping hand, reclaim my pen
should we fail, falling to break racing legs
from Poet's heart forgive we mortal men.
Cast thy immense shadow upon mind's thought
We poets know, thy love can not be bought!
To the God of Poetry, this I plead
look deeper into our soul-searching hearts
for there hides, rose-red in the ink we bleed
and beautiful melody in verse we impart.
Cast thy immense shadow upon mind's thought
We poets know, thy love can not be bought!
To the God of Poetry, this I ask
should we weaken, in writing lose our way
shine brighter lights, in love's warmth, let us bask
even if our words are weak, let us stay.
Cast thy immense shadow upon mind's thought
We poets know, thy love can not be bought!
To the God of Poetry, this I know
thy power is in thy mercy and love
forgive us each and every low blow
grant us each, angelic muse from above.
Cast thy immense shadow upon mind's thought
We poets know, thy love can not be bought!
To the God of Poetry, this I need
wisdom from thy spirit, its great power
harvested crops of thy beautiful seed
in thy Light live, not in the dark cower.
Cast thy immense shadow upon mind's thought
We poets know, thy love can not be bought!
To the God of Poetry, this I give
devotion, from mind and my busy hands
blessings returned, from joy which I live
heart's sweeter songs, across thy golden lands.
Cast thy immense shadow upon mind's thought
We poets know, thy love can not be bought!
Robert J. Lindley, 5-07-2019
Rhyme, (Replying to Panagiota Romios's-- finely woven and deeply inspiring, poem titled- "To The God Of Poetry")
I composed this piece early this morn, before the sun rose to gift the day its brilliant hues, promised blessings and sweet
hours to love and be loved..
Note: To poets, poetry is far more than just writing- it is the act of joining.
Joining in communicating, sharing, creating, singing, dancing, loving, living
and many other beautiful blessings/emotions. The more communication/sharing the better for us all. The more gifting verse, words for future generations the better for us all..
Inspired by your superbly crafted poem my great friend..
Oh, golden heart, speak now in love's embrace,
surrender to the passions, thy words convey,
take mine hand, within dream's endeavour,
within thy golden heart, images of love arrayed.
I swim through gentle chambers, of passion's flame,
mine soul, ever to sing in joyous praise,
oh beloved heart, that doth make my desire's, true light,
shine golden in thy depths, through love's passionate breath.
Divine thou doth shine, within star's brocade of lace,
oh, heart that sings love's joys, thy depths sublime,
I lay mine head within thy golden love,
now, within thy heart's dreams, I rest in love's repose.
Within thy heart, desires ever displayed,
thy glory shines, as doth the golden sun,
golden the dreams, that we shall ever share,
deep within the great depths of thy heart.
Lord, Thy Word my torch
Along dark paths, I walked
Shadows vanished!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
14 NOVEMBER 2014
L-ove for one another is what we all need.
O-n earth especially with all of the greed.
V=anity of vanities can plant it's own seed.
E-ach one should love as in the Bible we read.
T-he Ten Comandmants tell us to love.
H-ave mercy on us we pray to the Lord above.
Y-et we still don't love, we wear a face glove.
B-ring all your burdens to the cross, we say.
R-easoning that Jesus shed His blood there one day.
O-nly He had the greatest love for mankind, and for their sins did pay.
T-hen after three days in the ground where he lay,
H-e arose from the dead, on earth could not stay.
E-very Easter we celebrate this wondrous Love.
R-emembering Christ and His Love from above.
Oh Vanity Thy Name is Metro-Man
At the gym,
admiring his bulging biceps in a giant mirror,
he reaches for his ever-ready smart phone
and stops to make a boastful tweet.
Driving home, sipping his protein drink,
he involuntarily sneers
noticing construction workers on a roof,
their strong bronzed arms glistening in the sun.
He makes a mental note
to stop off at the tanning booth tomorrow.
At the salon, and after his daily massage,
he lies back for his manscape.
Oh, how it hurts, he inwardly groans,
but as he contemplates how the hotties at the pool
will love his baby smooth skin,
a smile lifts the corners of his mouth.
At his sterile home
with its many beautiful toys meant to entertain
the largest and oldest of grown-up boys,
he goes to his social media account
eager to relate how just today
he broke his personal best bench press record
Before bed, he brushes and carefully flosses
and then applies his special lotions.
Looking down at his manhood, he smiles again
until the thought
of pushing papers at the office
flits through his mind:
Oh the drudgery that I must endure
to afford my awesome life!
July 10, 2017 for the Modern Vanity Contest of Lewis Raynes
" I Smote Thy Heart"
by~ Richard Pickett
Upon the morrow, I shall take aim
with this slender feathered shaft at the heart of thee,
it shall pierce thee in the coldest of manners. Thou shalt
know from whence it came. From my sorrow, said sorrow
left upon me by the daggers of thy withered soul.
Beguiled by thy mask of innocence,that thee wore
as brilliantly as the Barrister, pleading before the magistrate.
Thou shalt plead mercy of passion, I once possessed only for thee,
that I remove the bolt from thy heart. Yet... I shall smite thee,till
thy blood runs as cold as the stone upon whence thy lie.
by~ Poet Destroyer
Strike on whom my ears deceive,
your sadness pierce ye 3 times therefore.
Straight liketh dagger of dragon teeth under thy heart.
A grace alone thou sprouted in remoteness ways.
If it ware not thy heart, ye fancy, into thy face
I have besidis all thy pain
No thing to want if it ware not Mad
Hold on to all things even as ye see, in every angle.
Nothing doth matter; thy aim shall endeth all sorrow
I have founded but makis me happiest thou ever was,
Thou shall not beggeth, taketh the dagger
Now thou its to late, smote thee very slowly
Thee hath my heart in deep shallow waters ;
Bloody lips do what ye list and dredge thee not
Smote thy heart, I care not,
Love whom ye forget, my sweet innocence.
Wherefore I pray mercy or shall not.
But love whom ye fear no God,
Do what must,
My tears shed thousands of grains of sand.
Morrow, will soon cometh, shall I hold
as you taketh away, from your
~ Femme' Fatal ~
A collaboration with * Richard Pickett