Best Vented Poems
What seems now old
Used to be utterly new
What was previously told
We cease to over chew
*****
All that is old hold a treasure
If only we all knew
Just weigh and measure
Under the veil a unique hue
*****
Out of memories we grow
Been taught lessons to the bone
We do reap all that we sow
And for wrongdoing we atone
*****
Pleasure and pain what we gain
In a life not taken for granted
Who can stop time or rinse rain
Or suppress anger that should be vented
*****
Life will continue to hurt and heal
Vomit its villains to mould the meek
Send its saints to instill ardency and zeal
Never always the ones at the wheel
*****
Deeply inside my prayers I recite
To always endurance and faith embrace
Be human of worth, decent and upright
And paths that stain never retrace
*****
A great depth of gratitude to God we owe
For both strength and forbearance
For age that vigorously flow
And for the gift of Love in abundance
*****
An abiding passion for her Majesty the word
Delving into my smile and feel would draw
The music of heart in verse softly whirred
My poetic human soul imbued with awe.
A letter to my wounds,
fragranced with powdered incense,
every word woven from carnelian ink,
beauty lies in the readers heart,
bruised syllables define nothing,
when everything phrased and vented,
are mere signs of bravery,
flowing in eloquence.
So, see beyond vague verses,
crafted from mystical metaphors,
and sanguine similes,
there streams,
truth of a healing mind,
still bleeding broken ballads,
and soulful sonnets;
same rhythm as the
art of a passionate poet,
pleading to be heard and seen,
amidst silenced skies on gloomy nights,
as this quill desires no accolades nor
condolences but compassion.
REMNANT
The Book of Prophecy was open to a silent page.
Tis she thought of the biblical generation in forty stages.
Her heart she hears.
In this life that Ora lives, she has fought for wisdom to ensure longevity.
Salient she sits looking out in the sunflower fields.
The vented darkness encapsulated.
Her mind ponders on the spiritual world.
She was, she felt, as lost as Poe.
Her favorite Poet of long ago spoke through his writings to only Ora.
In the fields, stands the raven.
A bird of blackness and such beauty but yet a threat to her, she felt she was
attached to a nonphysical existence.
Transcendental was the raven's head as she perched on the mantle.
She takes her breath every time because this woman fears what this
symbolizes.
Surcease, this woman would shout aloud.
No respect for me do you have at my house.
Such demeanor is not to be tolerated.
This woman strikes out at the raven.
The raven flipped her wings beguilingly with decorum of her wickedness.
The forty years has transgressed with the omen sent.
This woman was struck by the raven’s beak.
Mournful she lays with her memory defeated.
Tis morn came and she lays awaken.
Ora’s visitors found her in a pitiful state.
They prepared her chambers for her to rest.
Will she live to see the next forty years?
Of youthful existence, she was.
Of her age, she was not.
The raven figurative existence defined her knowledge.
Portent and fore token, a scoff of hope is the raven augury.
She is epoch to her well-being.
May this story end?
Nevermore
_______________________________|
PENNED ON SEPTEMBER 21, 2014!
My sister Susie loved picking her nose
To her chagrin her little finger froze
It was stuck so far
Doc used a crowbar
Finger up nose - not a ladylike pose!
Our Mother, in a fit of Pique
At Susie's antics with her Beak
Said, "Right my girl"
And in a whirl
Grounded Susie for a Week
Resenting her fate, in bed
Rebellion sparked inside her head
When all were asleep
She'd dress and creep
Though the window and escape instead
A branch near her window hung
Which to its foliage she clung
The branch was weak
And with a shriek
She fell into a pile of Dung
The house woke up only to find
Poor Susie in a dreadful Bind
She looked quite a mess
In her state of distress
That our Mother went out of her mind
"A School for young Ladies, I'll choose"
One, her wildness, I hope will defuse
And instil, at a pace,
Deportment and Grace
To refine the coarse ways of our Suz'
Packed off to be 'Finished' she went
Determined to never repent
Despite all opinions
It's just like 'St Trinians'
And for Susie, was quite an event
Susie boarded at ‘Saint Eloise’
It was there she got covered in fleas
Once she dived in a ditch
To be rid of that itch
Oh, you should see the state of her knees!
When in the first deportment class
Poor Susie fell straight on her ‘ass’
When she exposed her behind
The other girls were unkind
So Susie began passing gas
They had to open the windows and doors
Crawl about and move on all fours
To get rid of the smell
That came straight from hell
Staff told ‘Susie’ no more encores!
Her Classmates all thought it a Hoot
When she lit the gas that she'd shoot
She then vented a Storm
That Blew up her Dorm
Which got our poor Susie the Boot
She believed she should never have gone
From the ones she depended upon
With her Mission, complete
(And a Cork placed, discreet)
Susie's Home where she'll always belong.
20th January 2016
Collaboration J Allison and R Bettridge
~Harridan in a Housecoat~
Four small children sent for care as their mother was taken so ill
No father could they reach for them so they were sent off at someone’s will
In the night taken from their beds, no word spoken, hearts full of dread
Taken to a town far away and not knowing what lay ahead.
A huge housecoat descended down like a crow devouring road kill
At the side stood a henchman, pointed nose, dark hair, and vengeful
Warning words left in theirs ears "be good or else there will be trouble"
“No one wants you now you know, not your parents” she burst that bubble.
The housecoat and the henchman dealt out their ghastly deeds
To three of the children she vented her spleen, her willing helper dealt her needs
The fourth child the baby, she showered with kisses and good food to eat
She bought her clothes and dressed her well, and spoke to her words so sweet.
The three all under the age of six did dread each and every night
When scrubbed with scrubbing brushes, their skin looking red raw and tight.
She had to get the scum off them because they were now in care
It was obvious that no one loved them, that’s why they were there.
Frightened and timid were the three, but the youngest was well looked after
Jealousy did form in the minds of the three - it robbed them of their laughter
The harridan in the housecoat with her willing henchman
Thought up little tortures finding the Achilles’ heels in each child one by one.
The housecoat and the henchman were in for big surprise
When the father sent for the children, she couldn’t believe her eyes
Bribery she tried on the siblings so the children would never tell
But there is not one that would condemn her to her well preached hell.
The housecoat and the henchman a mother and daughter no less
A good churchgoing family with their holy pictures to bless
Evil in their deeds of torture and of mental games
The harridan in the housecoat and the daughter with no name.
© ~GG~ 6/08/2012
My Heart Shall Not Fade In Crying Red Rust
I shall beat down the walls of your dungeon
And smash its power into fading dust.
My spirit by you will not be bludgeoned,
My heart shall not fade in crying red rust!
Once, I saw such goodness in your sweet soul.
Those years have all vanished into the dark,
Where raging waters drown love in its roll
Madness of your hate shows to be so stark!
I still long for that soft gentle touch
With the press of those sexy luscious lips.
This heart cries deep, in loving you so much
Despite cut of claws on your fingertips!
I can never change pains of fate and time.
Yet I cry my loss in poetic rhyme!
R.J. Lindley
Sept 23rd, 1976
Syllables Per Line:
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:
Total # Words: 116
Note- Old poem, slightly edited today to improve its form
and omit sad and deeply personal messages vented at the time of
its creation. Although its extra verses (altered or cut) to bring
down to brevity of the sonnet form were very good, I will keep
the original intact in my private writes, for my children to read
only after I depart this existence.
An empty room was the scenery to his death
Not a single living soul was present to witness the events that took place
A sliding door covered with a mirror spoke back to him with his own reflection words spoken and breath
A change he saw in the playful mirror, he had a different face
A broken heart powered his spirit, a spirit that had lost all sense of direction
Fake, selfish to the heart he crawled into his path
All along yearning for his fathers attention
A feeling that he never met, for he was truly lost in the yearning of affection
Anger flowed in his heart
Hope was locked up, it wasn't free always it had a bail
He never truly mean to harm anyone, yet the ones closest to him felt it all, saw his spirit fail
Alas all was lost, his family, his dreams slapped him awake, awake to his reality in part
All alone, at the bottom of the pit
His heart was bleeding and not a soul around to aid him, he fell to his knees
With his heart in his hand, reaching for the sky, he asked Jesus to take his heart and dwell in it
An ugly howl of the mind with the spirit and soul all at one, gasping for air, for life he said "please"
Shattered, his all, he was nothing but dirt with dirt
His eyes blinded by the endless tears could not see the sky, a beautiful night it was
He asked with all his mind, heart and spirit to be forgiven for his past, for his fault for his flaws
At point zero he blacked out, he died
In his death he saw a light, brighter that the sun itself, it blinded the heart
A presence he had never felt before came over him, yet there was no fear
Pleaing to his understanding, he knew it was good, and that shortly he would awake from his sleep
Wrong, for the light drew closer and it even spoke, at the words that vented into him, he did weep
A sense of security, of purity overwhelmed his body
Afraid he was not, for His Lord was the light
In the beginning, from the very start He was there to guide him into life herself, teaching him how to fight
Darkpoet died that night, but a new being was born! In the name of Jesus Christ, he was called Jeremiah
-God, father I have been seeking you all my life,
Here I am Lord to serve You, My King.
Jeremiah I shall be, to write for You Father.
Jeremiah Eduardo Orozco
The birdie whistled
A wet and wild song;
Damp feathers bristled.
Wild song, rain-scented;
Trills of petrichor,
With flapping, vented.
Petrichor afresh.
A hot steam, released.
Buds unfurl-refresh.
Released melody;
Shines sweet bluebird’s wings
In storm’s brevity.
Bluebird’s wings fluff bright,
As the sun billows,
At the beak’s delight.
Billows, of warm tweet
And zephyr, compete.
One day I birthed you into this land
We watched you grow as we held your hand
You sucked your fingers during those years
Then you brought your parents many tears
I cried because I didn’t understand
All these hardships were not in my plan
The choices you made were not just for you
They affected the family too
I vented with friends for oh so long
One day I began writing poems
Poems I wrote came straight from the heart
I wrote about you from the very start
Night after night you would stay away
Deep down in all I could do was pray
I would walk the floors night after night
I learned my son was no where in sight
What did I do to cause all this pain
Why was my heart feeling all this strain
Mom didn’t tell me of these sort of days
I guess this’s the price that love pays
Maddening thought to process such a word
Mad definition defining more than anger
Mad upset feeling fever flushed climatic danger
Mad mangled minor class offense verse major
Madly suggestive messages a madden proclaimer
Mad made digestive mental notes selective
Madder matters making moves motioning more
Minds mad capacities hijacking brains plane
Mad makers massive maze uncontained
Moistening our various vented veins change
Mad to be or not to be?
Crazy…
In the garden of poems percieved,
my dreams are plucked from ideals.
Placed on the pages of creative seeds,
where friends meet to read and spiel.
Watered images grown very tall,
patterned to my bidden ages.
The dreams for sages large and small,
paid down and read from silvered pages.
Growing in rows this, my trite recall,
I've shared my innermost feelings of heart.
An articled discourse written for all,
portrayed my own passionate song of art.
Breathing the aroma of those vented pearls,
more tender than a romantic rendition.
When transplanted these dreamed of deeds,
found perusing among poetical fountains.
Of The Famed Labors Of Hercules
ninth poet, poet dedication series, Emma Lazarus
Through Time's mesmerizing and meandering paths,
Colossus of heroic worship rightly praised,
He that vented his strength and fought with half-god wrath;
Mighty Son of Zeus, his feats that this world amazed,
Carved in stone, sculptor Vincenzo de’ Rossi hand
Paid for by Cosimo I de’ Medici's gold,
A Titan born into brave heart of Grecian lands,
His tales endure and will forever be told.
Image of his labors, Bargello Palace once held
When bravest of heroes were admired and lauded,
Strong and powerful were dark monsters his hands felled;
As true Greek warriors sang of and applauded.
Mythical hero representing Greek freedom
A giant, famous pride of ancient Greek kingdom.
Robert J. Lindley, 2-17-2019
Sonnet, inspired by and honoring,
poem titled, The New Colossus, by Emma Lazarus
I was like a piece of paper
I was smooth and crumple free
And then a man did pick me out
And scribbled over me.
And then when he had done his work
He took me in his hand
He crushed that piece of paper, me
I didn’t stand a chance
Then came a day that he did think
He wasn’t maybe done
He took that paper out the bin
And smoothed it out again.
He didn’t see the scribble there
And again he took his pen
He scribbled more and made a mess
And crumbled me again.
Some time did past and then one day
Another time was found
The man who picked it out this time
Was angry and astray
He took that piece of paper, me
And again it was smoothed out
He saw that there was scribble there
But didn’t take a count
I had some wine that split on me
I had some crackers too
I wasn’t what he want me be
And nearly tore in two
He wrote some angry words on me
And vented for release
And then I found me once again
Just thrown on a heap
Now I sit here mighty soiled
With lots of marks on me
And I don’t care just anymore
For those who don’t want me.
They march like a circus of self appointed kings
Waving their gossip around like puppets on strings
They whisper my name like it’s top secret news
Buddy relax…I’m not Bigfoot in shoes
They huddle in corners with insider facts
Somehow their stories come up missing the facts
They talk like detectives with clues they invented
Solving the case of, “Im jealous but vented!”
They post little comments with bravery borrowed
Courage on loan due back by tomorrow
Roasting me in public with chest puffed bravado
Vanishing in person like where’s Waldo?
They act like professors of all about me
Skipping every class past Assumption 103
They major in drama with minors in snark
Graduating daily with honors in bark
Soccer moms need gas each day
To move their vans along the way.
How can a jet leave contrail lines
Without the fuel to fly so high?
Little did the Ford man know
How fast the number of cars would grow.
750 million today
To double in 30 years they say.
This thirsty world requires a drink
350 million barrels per month, I think.
So when an oil spill makes us mad,
When oil stained beaches make us sad,
We shouldn't blame the companies
That try so hard to meet our needs.
Or curse our government and president,
When we see where the spilled oil went.
They'll work together best they can,
New laws and money to clean the sand.
New technology will be invented
To contain the leaks when they are vented.
If you look for whom to blame,
His name and yours may be the same.