It rained last night
and it will rain again and again
after each dry spell -
the planet has always understood
the benefits of hydration.
The ground of being, being mind-clay
will reconfigure a muddy tale,
then poetry (or whatever speaks
in riddles and earthy visons
claiming to be the most profound
of witless squiggle’s)
will surface to inscribe its thoughts
upon a fluid reality.
Writhing, writing worms
will raise their blind heads
in praise of the compliancy of all deconstructed worlds;
they will carol in the newly wetted shallows
as God muses together
all potentially squirmy realities,
ones that can be read as an outward appearance,
and evidence
of yet more superficial churnings.
From A Dream, Three Quatrains Gifted
The Searching
I went forth into the windy forest
Through thistles, thorns and falling day
Crossing umber meadows and flowing stream
Forever seeking that which hath fled away.
The Flying
I went forth into midnight sleeping
From spinning cloud to cloud I fled
Far below, slow breeze comforted Fate
Whilst I slept alone in my bed.
The Denying
I went forth into tomorrow's churnings
As a child lost in the sorrowing haze
The sun there was a ball of distant red
And I, falling into its infinite blaze.
Robert J. Lindley, 4-12-2022
Poetry
Note:
Ok, note becomes the fourth, but definitely was not intended to be..
Thus, editing it now to give it the proper title..
The Understanding
Waking to rise, inking verse to stay afloat
O but a few words to the blue-cast skies
It was Goliath that the flying stone smote
Thus, laying devil low in his flesh-cast disguise…
Note:
"smote"
smite
/smit/
Learn to pronounce
verb
*****past tense: smote*****
1.
LITERARY
strike with a firm blow.
They simply had one Ministry of Truth
for news.
No others allowed.
Wake up, it's happening here!
They found a group to paint, as the
source of all evil.
Stores were closed, windows smashed
of hated businesses.
Book burnings? Now we have Social
Media churnings!
One group, blamed for Society's Fall.
They don't sport a yellow star, yet.
But AOC wants enlightenment camps.
She, the new Fourth Reich Squad Vamp.
Think it can't happen again?
It's already in progress here, my friend!
~THOSE WHO FORGET THE PAST,
ARE DOOMED TO REPEAT IT~
We are already well on our way to establish
Auschwitz tomorrow!
VOA was shut off due to your new Resident
in DC!
There is space now for a patriot's sorrow.
We no longer have a valid Constitution.
Just one party who seeks pain and
illegal, unjustified retribution!
1/24/2021
~5~
This shade is damp with the net of sun
finely sliced with the paring knife of trees.
We softly move among old bones, places
where ancient lovers have lain, grinding
one another into thin blue dust, drinking
from a chalice of silvered hands held
one to the other safe in mid-afternoon light
among gnats and May apples arching achingly
toward the slow, soft, satin churnings of death.
Sleep does not easily come to the wracked,
Nor does it obviously fall on the damned,
It does not as a snowfall descend,
Or as a blanket lay over the land.
Windows of eyes gape resistant and wide,
Churnings of cells spark with zest,
Palettes of thought-waves add colourful wake
To a canvas of endless unrest.
The fugue in the tablet expanding
Warm tendrils snake dreamless and dark,
Consciousness clamped in the velveteen vice
Of the jaws of a hypnotic shark.
Sleep, when it comes, is empty and dry,
And as false as a cheap hooker’s kiss,
A cotton wool coverlet drowning the truth,
For a mind in a cardboard abyss.
For the sands, yellow burnish, sped by,
Met the burned orange toasting,
A golden sea of vision dominance
And filled the panoramic brain pan
Until each plaque strained as if to split,
Groaning with memorials of each grain,
Until the blackness rolled in,
Whispered sleep.
Upon the oceanic aquamarine, blue surf
Met the bruised umbra skyline,
A sooty ribbon, knotted and unfurling
That demonised the senses with possession
Until each salt-caked breath scragged,
Filled lungs and throat with nautical churnings
Until the compasses spun,
Ambit confusion.
In the mountains, graveyard green, brooding rock
Met the cotton-white cumulous,
These arcane gods, predominant kings,
Who raped the firmament’s splendid womb,
Until the seminal rain teemed down,
Burst on tongues of snaking road
Until the eyes saw truth,
Suffered home…
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