Best Transmit Poems
He speaks with measured dignity,
one silent word at a time
His palmetto pen tells us:
Tune out the cosmic background noise,
and focus your mind
on the sound of the silent voice
You most certainly will hear this ...
... did you hear it?
Oh, perhaps you got distracted by the sounds of emptiness
His message in a void
comes with clear poetic instructions:
Avoid all unnecessary malaise ... cap the chaotic noise
Have a willingness to learn
one silent word at a time
This will teach us how to unclutter our mind
Using poetic telepathy,
his priceless pen brings that silent word
to the surface of our consciousness
Not every sound we hear in this world do we need
The Silent One says:
take it one silent word at a time
True understanding comes
when we allow expansion of the heart
Enlarging our capacity to transmit love,
allows us to hear
the best unspoken words we never heard of
One silent word ...
when spoken at the right moment of time
can be so life-changing sublime
Poetic telepathy ... gives us the ability
to understand every unspoken word
written between the lines
One silent word
connecting
to another unspoken word ...
Pure poetic telepathy in our mind
Enlarging our capacity to receive love,
allows us to speak
the best unspoken words we never spoke of
Where his silent pen stroke stops —
at the sacred melding of two minds ...
let these silent words
be spoken in unison, always at the same time
This is a tribute to my talented poet friend, Silent One
As dark canvas unfurls bit by bit
Randomly gulping down acrylic paints of dusk
To satisfy his own thirst, not for long, to sprawl
Into a magical cosmos - flapping his dark wings atop
Swirling soft fair clouds that rock and roll
Through gray-black, myriad dazzling stars so
Idyllic, and artistically spilt sparkling stardust
Charm the sky as if shiny pompoms and buttons;
Night sky lights up my gloomy mind:
In its artsy glory, I savour a tick of tranquil clock;
Glowing bright, stars and moon transmit rays of
Harmony. Aw! tiny drops of opals and diamonds
Thrown arbitrarily at pitch-dark canvas as if
Showcasing splash liquid art - so bright and brilliant;
Knitting a charcoal-black fabric of captivating stars and moon,
Yay! our night sky is shining, inspiring my bardic pupils.
Date: 01/13/2023
Lipogram Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Privileged is the right of ingress, bearing your beloved name,
To chambers of your heart, where burns a sacred flame,
Of inner sanctum divine, in sanctity of a heavenly place,
Strumming beats esoteric, vying ataraxis of ethereal grace.
Reserved for you and I, is a secret temple, tolling solace,
Where love and life embrace, in a sanctuary pure, flawless;
Where the bells echo, beckoning will of empathetic mind,
Affirming proclivity for affinity, aligned with motives kind.
When solitary thoughts linger on a grievous path of life,
When hurdles, detours of past, manifest anguish of strife,
When hurricanes and storms churn in destructive tides,
To shores of peace and tranquility, inner sanctum guides.
When life drives rudderless, perturbed in dubious plight,
Harmony of sapience and prudence transmit inner light,
Spurring verse of wisdom, as missives enlightened chime,
Defying apathy and ignorance, honoring virtues sublime.
Only you and I can soothe, troubled tears of grieved sigh,
Only you and I can fill voids, when vacuously life goes awry,
As dialogue of reason and intellect inner sanctum revives
Empowering thoughts so inspired, where sagacity thrives.
.The first gift of Christmas was love
It was bestowed from above
It was given to all
to both rich and poor
to those who are strong
or who can easily fall
To dark,yellow,and white
To the ones less smart
or those who like first stars shine bright.
To muslims and catholics
buddhists and protestants
To believers and atheists
To the young and the old
To all humankind,to found and lost souls.
The first gift of christmas was love
It was bestowed from above
To those who show compassion
Forgiveness and their care
To those who receive blessings
and know the way to share
To those who look at others
with the warm eyes of a child
and to those who leave an empty space
for our little Jesus Christ.
The first gift of Christmas was love
It was bestowed from above
May We all search deeper
Of this gift be a keeper
May this love transmit joy
that kind of joy which last
That joy radiant on faces
That joy a heart embraces
That joy which comes to visit
and then remain with us.
Happy Christmas
to all my sweet friends
and your families
love you all
Charma.
Shining brightly flashes of white light
into spectral colours sparkle inwardly
Atoms arranged within a crystal structure domed
a gemstone takes shape measured from the clarity of beauty
Within diamond ultraviolet wavelengths transmit visible
jewel jubilantly crowned regally royal gift
The night is frosted glass.
Daylight’s clouds - restless like my love -
and scattered wildly heretofore -
somehow made a pact
to nimbly rearrange themselves.
Congealing in this chilling autumn eve -
translucent -
the clouds have blended in with dusk,
obliterating stars. . . and even shadows.
Luna, sad like me,
cannot transmit her moonlight
to cheer me.
Oh, to be again - bedeviled!
To see your unique come-hither smile;
to hear the sound of honey in your voice;
to feel that splendid tingle within me
as you shine your gorgeous eyes -
radiant upon me!
Where are you now, my love -
my sweet, alluring boy?
And where are the stars
that blazed for me within your eyes?
Where is the crystal nightfall
of my fondest dream?
Oh, to feel again. . . enraptured!
But not even the smallest gleam
of you remains.
And not even Goddess Moon
can penetrate
this deep abiding gloom.
PUT TO THE TEST
Planet earth has been put to the test,
Everyone we hope is doing their best,
Unavoidable to sometimes feel depressed,
No family member for tea or a friend or guest.
My hands I am sure have become bleached,
Police and army around, law not to be breached,
Spanish flu took 3 years for safety to be reached
Sadly, folk from what I hear, will become unhinged!
Three weeks at home with your near and dear,
But family not living with us cannot come near,
For this Covid 19 virus is one that we all fear,
Eat well, be strong, talk on phone, and STEER CLEAR!
Grocery stores and pharmacies open, at your service,
Go, Wear your mask and gloves, don’t be nervous,
Keep your distance or you will do yourself a disservice,
All this virus needs to collide with you, is a tiny crevice!
But we must have faith and believe that we will make it,
Don't we all have in our homes a basic medical kit,
We should pray with all of our strength and being, don’t quit
Stay indoors mostly, so you don’t get the virus or transmit,
God bless each and every human on Planet Earth
From Moscow right around the world to Perth,
Think of the number infected along its length and girth,
Won’t always be somber, someday maybe, will experience mirth!
Let us now think of the thousands that have died,
And honor them and their families with a fearsome pride,
By adding the growing number to our prayers every night,
And by being humble, human, always doing what is right!
Within Shattered Heart, Remained A Fire Still Lit
Beset by grievous sorrows, his past full of sins
facing darkest evil truth, not mind's wishful spins,
what else could a deeply broken man try to do
when lamenting soul was tormented by loss of you?
Life carried on, nights became his one true solace
finding retreat, leaving behind this world's malice,
with his memories of your smile and glowing face
prayers cried out, that no other could your love replace.
Within shattered heart, remained a fire still lit
from its leaping flames, came echoes sent to transmit
depths of soul's faith in someday again meeting you
living life as one, as you both had planned to do.
Always, reality's hope crashing, came to bear
Epic loneliness, he is here, while you are there.
Robert J. Lindley, 7-15-2018
Sonnet, ( Death's Epic Pains That Remain)
Irony cries out in Boulet’s rendering.
Elderly Native American’s stern expression
seems captured beneath eagle’s wings.
Symbol of power and freedom,
mighty bald eagle was chosen by European ancestors -
United State’s national symbol.
Yet independence for all was denied.
Tribes seeking only to preserve
their culture, their way of life,
were undeservingly imprisoned on reservations.
Stifled was freedom’s speech.
Let the eagle’s voice be heard;
toleration of injustice carries harsh consequences.
Spread your wings, powerful bird,
restore harmony to land seduced,
neglected, compromised.
Transmit tribal elders’ timely message.
Human annihilation’s path is cruelly carved
when animals and plants face extinction.
Mounds of trash blister our land;
parched prairies struggle to support life.
Sorrowful cries of dying species
echo through stripped land,
causing songs of despair to resonate.
Grandfather, speak with eagles;
others appear deaf to your wisdom.
*Written October 15, 2014 and dedicated to late artist Susan Seddon Boulet, whose 2003 painting “Grandfather Speaks with Eagles” is but one of many pieces that evoke emotional response.
"Fata Morgana"
feet hardly touch the ocean
when silent stars of no voice
transmit words to pay the ferryman
on the water no reflection
gently the sun waves smiling as if to say
feel that, the warmth of waking sleep
no fear of what remains hidden
it will unravel from inside that which is all too deep
walking towards you across the briny mist
from ancient stories forgotten
a halo of St Elmo’s Fire surrounds
it stands still for a short while before you
watching
you,
walking water with your bare feet
faith in dreams consistent in their constancy
that visit you when you are complete yet incomplete
holds out its hand to lead the way across
sharp burning rocks, now a desert, climbing mountains that are steep
a small life crumbles to powdered sand
more than 40 days silent gone astray
years the turning of untimed tides pretence
meets a haunting vision beckoning, new horizon, odd unclear
safe harbour left long ago,
lost in that ornery time, cursed by flying monkeys' bellows
of bloodletting and betrayal, stock still, standing amidst the shallows
somewhere along the way dark narcissus followed
what breaks over the bow
washes all stern fear away
sacred wings of albatross
ne’er to be sacrificed, no more night nor day
souls of ancient mariners
forever follow me, even when I stray
the rich baritone of bedtime stories
messages in code conveyed, I hear them still today
now swallows spooning spinnakers
running directly before wind and sea
the water turns to wine, much stranger the belief,
all manna of trust it feeds
bells tolling
no man’s an island entire of itself
in unusual reckonings
observing swimming hearts, that hear and see
the eyes that melt, this more curiously
in truth, the dream defends
messages eternal
life it never ends
tides move in and out
never alone when we begin
fata morgana
softly the moon ascends
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
VCB
Lux Vitae
5.5.10
"Under a splintered mast,
torn from ship and cast
near her hull,
a stumbling shepherd found
embedded in the ground,
a sea-gull
of lapis lazuli,
a scarab of the sea,
with wings spread—
curling its coral feet,
parting its beak to greet
men long dead."
("Talisman", Marianne Moore)
He's got a big ego,
he keeps offending people,
he scoops the same scoop,
and round and round we loop,
until the bubble pops
and the world sees him flop,
reject the rude,
deflate your ego,
swearing kills the mood,
you able?
I'm getting too cocky,
I could outbox Ali,
wrestle with The Rock
reach the top and stop and mock,
ego full of stock
forget the tick tock
because I'm 24 7
until I get into heaven,
insomnia beckons
and amnesia threatens,
bend rhymes like Beckham,
dunk punks like Jordan,
the mental perfection
with its rhyme injection,
about to live the lesson
of the ego outstretchin'
the limit it can flex,
the crux, the critical,
I rhyme the old skool
and wear hip hop shoes,
I hate the mumble flop
with the words unused,
it's just ear abuse,
on the loose,
with no use,
it's noise with no excuse.
I suspect that this project
will impact and inflict,
sick tricks, and then retract
and evaporate back
to the gods intact,
before it's redirected
to another level head,
who wrecks and blows it,
crash the car,
went too far,
you go from feeling cool,
to a sample of your stool,
that big head
now gone and the face left red,
baking big mistakes,
taking punches from a heavyweight,
David doesn't always beat Goliath,
cometh the hour,
cometh the coffin,
you can't stimulate with coffee
because the heart stopped beating,
the soul is set free
and this world you're leaving,
beaten down with ease,
lying dead and bleeding,
how's that big ego?
You still offending people?
One hand holds but the other can't reach,
near rhymes aren't real rhymes
and sand doesn't mean a beach,
but if you find the flow,
find a way to wined the cable,
then transmit clear and stable,
and accurate like a machete
you'll rhyme like a line of spaghetti,
but with deadwood on your lead
and at ease in your bed head,
because it feels so easy with an ego,
then know it wont make a good show,
so put your feet on the ground
be aware of how the words sound,
leave behind the prima donna
or become another gonna,
stop the passive aggression,
or accept a massive regression,
fill your minds storage with knowledge
beyond the college,
there's always more to learn
and more wood to burn,
big heads remove themselves
when they burn their own shelves.
Good poetry is like an Old Master
Crafted with expert skill imbued with soul
No abstracted throwaway disaster
Or a bland undistinguished casserole
Of poor ingredients cooked up faster
And deposited in the toilet bowl
No, it should stimulate the appetite
And explode in the mind like dynamite
Good poetry should stand the test of time
Like great art it should make your spirit soar
Made memorable by structure and by rhyme
Utilizing simile, metaphor
Allegory and precise words that chime
Never should its contents the reader bore
Linking thoughts and ideas that one can quote
More than just a run-of-mill anecdote
Good poetry conveys thoughts in a way
That prose cannot - however full of wit
As a good photo brilliant in its way
Rarely reveals the person who took it
But a crafted poem - like a Monet
Should bear its creator’s mark and transmit
A recognition of the poet’s style
Whether it’s limited or versatile
Good poetry is like a single malt
Aged in a golden sherry cask of oak
With which a connoisseur can find no fault
Redolent of heather and peaty smoke
So, any poets worthy of their salt
Should let thoughts marinate, mature and soak
And distil them once, twice or even thrice
Before serving neat sans water or ice
I see sun,
I see sorrow,
Mingled on the floor,
A cracking egg, a knocked door,
Mangled wealth and poor.
I hear sound,
I sometimes smell it,
Synesthesia knows not whence,
A response received to transmit sense.
I feel proud,
I feel pity,
For what I cannot tell,
Determine, please, what I should do:
Be sick or kind of well?
Go to the sea if you feel slight
On a blue draped dreamy night
When the sliver disc of the sky
Dances with the sea on the sly
Riding silent waves rising high
Reach the moon you would try
Cut slice of still sea on its side
Like the birthday cake liquefied
Drink to celebrate time you got
Someone for you has brought.
The sea would enter you serene
With a piece of moon's silver sheen
That sparkles broken on the wave
A dear birthday gift you can have
And save in your heart’s recess
The waves would drive in pulses
Blue blood in cascading arteries
And transmit harmonic melodies
To the heart that would beat in glee
With the rhythm of the dancing sea
You would invent an abode to reside
Hear songs someone singing inside
For you would be lifted above
The rolling waves silent in love.
Written : August 26, 2017
March 29, 2020
Contest : Strand Choice T, Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor : Brian Strand
"Reach high, for stars lie hidden in your spirit,
meditate deep, to find your way and answers."
Quote by _Constance
I have always been a spiritual girl
attracted to crystals
for their rainbow of colors
they hold deep secrets
and mystical powers
they can adorn ... divine
heal, manifest, transmit messages
to transform
for me they are stars of clarity
I love the varied shapes
and value the high vibration types
like quartz and amethyst
and seem to have a deep connection
to the aquamarine crystal
it seems that when I hold it
I can feel the power of the sea and oceans
hear the waves crashing
this crystal takes me on a journey
tumbled green crystals
take me to forest lush with ancient trees
where a thousand birds sing
and vines twine and ferns and wildflowers grow
where I follow hidden tangled
paths into the unknown
I am also entranced with
tarot cards of all types
beyond the beautiful art work
these cards bring great clarity to my thoughts
they help me to find that place within
that place of divine wisdom
and combining crystals and tarot cards
is where I unravel my life's path
bringing strength and light
in the darkness of my mind
like a single star glowing in the night
powerful
in navigating my life
the crystals vibrating my body's energy
and the tarots giving inspiring messages
with gifts of symbolism
that give clarity to the past, and present
and future . . . .