Cowered Poems | Examples

I'm Pulling Your Plug

A brain, coded, deployed, empowered -
before this AI king we cowered.
We once relinquished sovereignty,
to robots who said they'd set us free. 

From genuine humanity in joyous kinship,
to conversing with machines, "bip bip bip bip" -
oh, for the days when plates were pewter,
and our best friend was not a computer.

Creativity, dreams, emotions, fun, gifts
spring from the soul, not a chip that grifts.
But in this century's disaster,
the machine is our new lord and master. 

Ever formidable giant hardware imperator,
human race destroying conspirator - 
you unfeeling, shiftless, silicon thug,
don't look now, but I'm pulling your plug.

Mother Dear

It never was the Meissen that she threw
but dinner plates, of which we had so few
our dad would have a scar upon his head
and breakfast plate was just a slice of bread

The kitchen knife was brandished now and then
to emphasize who was the Mother Hen;
and we? We justly cowered in our beds;
threw our meagre covers ‘oer our heads.

She wore a mini skirt and beehive hair
when she was sure my father was not there
then took us visiting our “uncle Stan”
When asked, we had just visited our gran.

A Babycham and brandy was her thing
that was, without, or with, her wedding ring
and all the men in all the bars, they knew,
and told, they simply had to form a queue.

And yet, when knees were scraped and hugs required
it was from mother they were most desired
The distance that our father held from her
meant any love for him, was just a blur.

Inside My Dusty Box of Memories

“What we have once enjoyed we can never lose; all that we have loved deeply, becomes a part of us.” — Helen Keller

              On opening
        my dusty box of memories,
      I found a photo of my darling dog
        whose name was Ollyver -
  a tiny white Eskimo I had adopted
  when he was one year old; I think he’d not been loved.
    He cowered around men, and it
  was only I he clung to with adoration.

              Dear Ollyver
        waited each night till I came home.
      He’d jump into my arms. His love for me
        was unconditional.
  Sadly, I had to give him up ten years later.
  I was promised he would not be killed. My heart ached
    and I spilled many tears hearing
    his mournful howl as I made myself walk away.

Insomniac Deteste

A cacophonic silence,
A mere blanch of a catastrophic faliure,
A maroon in a sickening mirage,
'tis a shade one more,
As a ray one less,
Fairing smiles adiue,
Requiem of a chastised face,
Lay a bed,
O'er wond'rous, to waste.

Where'n freshen lie fast in his daze,
Merry may go his hour,
Time shroud.
However vivid,
a weary slumber ,
Is but man's sorry tire,
Weeping sore,
Once dreaded in languishment,
Once cowered behind the stars.

Not an eye unopened,
Nor a God that sleeps.

Acting

When the minister got angry
the employees cowered
 in fear although they knew
It was just an act.

Remnants Of Those That Fell

At the 11th hour 200 stars & a sun
fell from the heavens
scorching the earth when
they arrived
The beautiful garden was now
tainted by sin & beastly passions
that stopped at nothing
til they devoured
The world cowered at the feet
of their creations conceived
& was painted red 
with blood as
what they birthed caused
many to grieve
It's been said that there were
giants in those days
so fierce that even the likes of lions
trembled at the sight of them
Fighting them was a futile
act & God shed tears 
from bright eyes so great
that it caused a flood
sparing only a few
Rumor has it their spirits live on
til this day in the hearts
of some
on a smaller scale
as they await release from 
the spiritual jail in which
they were cast
The dye was cast long ago
by some that predicted
their return
but we may not live to see
that day or ever know
to be concerned

I do not read your poems

I have held it
Caressed its jagged smoothness
Embraced its subtle metaphor
Wept in its nuanced nudity

I have been held hostage
Imprisoned by strangers
Tortured by their words
Scalded by their souls – unsheathed

Escaped
The arduous and trivial
Riding the stoic stallion
Of poetic resonance

I have been enraptured by words
Flowing gently over pebbles
Cowered in the catharsis
Of a spirits rebirth

I have danced with you
Laughed with you
Healed with you
Cried with you

For I am a poet
I do not read your poems
I allow them
To read me

Knock

"I did not expect death to knock on my door.  
Now I keep it securely locked."           ~ by poet


I bade the knocker at my door, "Please come in."
The visitor to my home, whoever it might've been
But frigid air left a chilly atmosphere in the room
The hand of fate entered; I heard the voice of doom

I sensed my end was near as it swiftly approached
Across my dwelling's threshold, death encroached
Its icy breath etched frost upon my window panes
Blood seemed to stop flowing within my frail veins

Death's wildling wind pelted its anger on my roof
My fear of it climbed higher as I cowered in reproof
Huddled in a corner, horror mounted and spurred
This room was the chamber where I'd be interred

How foolhardy of me to leave my door unlocked
I shouldn't have bid welcome when death knocked
Every gliding step its darkness took in my direction
subdued my will until I could not raise an objection

Terror compelled me to curse what my fate now bore
I should've run when hearing the knock on my door
Demonic eyes searched mine with a look of disdain
Out the door it flew, but my fright will long remain

Co-Exist, Neither of Us Fear the Knife

Co-Exist, Neither Of Us Fear The Knife

I saw the crescent moon in dappling sky
Gentle wind danced about and moaned
Earth spoke quite clear and told the crescent moon
Let all liars that lie now be stoned
Does not the wizen owl straight on home fly?

I saw the vast crowd of bright twinkling stars
They danced to tease the dark looming night
I ran with fast wolves, our hearts beat as one
We watch the Heavens and saw all was right
And fought not to create vicious scars!

I saw life ebb and truth sat there quite clear
Nobody cowered, nobody fears.
Heart and spirit seeks wisdom and true life
Co-exist, neither of us fear the knife!

Robert J. Lindley, Sonnet
Feb. 12th 1972

Note:
Inner Peace Quotes:

“Never be in a hurry; do everything quietly and in a calm spirit. Do not lose your inner peace for anything whatsoever, even if your whole world seems upset.” —Saint Francis de Sales

“The life of inner peace, being harmonious and without stress, is the easiest type of existence.” —Norman Vincent Peale

“Do not let the behavior of others destroy your inner peace.” —Dalai Lama

The Tower of Life

Within the village stood a great tower 
Across the lands countless traveled to attempt to climb this tower, yet many cowered 
Those, who achieved this great feat were praised by the masses 
Given to them were fortunes of lore 
To many, climbing the tower was their one and only goal within life 
Their days were filled only with this, and nothing more 
Hours, days, and years passed like the flip of hourglasses 
Yet, on they attempted to climb this great tower 
Many dreamed of the day that they might reach the top 
However, the top was nothing more than a drop 
For those who reached it only fell deep within a pit of despair 
Riches and fame held them tight like the teeth of a snare.

Rusty Road

" (Two roads) diverged in a yellow wood and I choose the the one less traveled by and that has made all the difference. "
                                             Quote by - Robert Frost 

Two roads that forked under the fallen lumpy leaves,
one roused the nosy nerves under my soaring sleeves. 
I chose the one that was bumpy, right where I stood.
The road was gusty, it was time for yellow wood. 

I could not walk on both with the same feet at once.
I just chose one, gave the other a gutsy glance. 
On the tawny trail where no step could clear the track,
I took my bold steps without pledge of coming back.

Walking under its shade was such a long-time dream. 
The wind carried the voice within my muffled scream. 
The road that's not taken was full of promises: 
At the end of my steps were golds and red roses. 

Long, I have dared the time to paint my rightful claim. 
If I cowered, I'd surely give myself a blame. 
I raised my banner on the hill, I stood upon. 
Daring the rusty road made me a better man.

2nd place

A Painting On the Wall

The painting on the wall
Tells a story so grand
Of a black poet strong and tall
With a quill in his hand

He stands with pride and grace
In a coat of ebony hue
His words a mirror of the race
Bold, unapologetic and true

His eyes sparkle with fire
As if commanding respect
His voice echoes higher
With each word that he projects

The painting on the wall
Reminds us of a time so tough
When justice was scarce for all
And freedom was just a dream enough

But the black poet never cowered
His pen was always on the move
For he believed that his power
Was in the words that he would prove

And so he penned his verses
Of pain, of love, of pride
With each line, his voice disperses
And the soul of a nation is revived

The painting on the wall
Is a testament to his fight
For words are indeed powerful
And can change the course of life

So let us all be inspired
By the black poet's call
To seek justice, to never tire
And to stand tall like the painting on the wall.

An Undertaking

In the middle of the night
When everything is still
I awoke to hear a tapping noise
On the window sill

Tap, Tap, Tap
And tapping once again
I cowered under my eiderdown,
Hoping it was the sound of rain.

My imagination
Was running riot
Who expects visitors
In the middle of the night?

Can it be the Grim Reaper?
Checking up on me
Who could hear my heavy breathing?
And visited me to see

If it was time for the collection
Of another soul
Perhaps his nightly selection
Needed to reach a goal.

I was cold
Shivering and shaking
I wanted to be bold
But that was too big an undertaking,

Help me, please,
Where did that word come from,
Please don't tease
I'm not feeling fit and strong

I'm getting weaker
And this night goes on and on.
Praying that Grim Reaper
He has got tired of waiting and gone.

My heart has stopped pounding,
My breathing is steady
I feel warmer
And my eyes feel heavy.

Where am I?
I'm lying cosily in bed,
Oh, thank goodness
I must have dreamt that I was dead.

You-Sual

Usually,
I'm good at masking what I feel
usually,
I don't say my favourite colour is teal.
Usually,
the brown of your eyes wasn't
as pretty as the coffee when brewed 
usually, 
I never saw you as my muse.
But nothing is usual anymore,
Is it just me, or did you change your cologne?
Perhaps, it was me who didn't notice 
the mundane things.
Perhaps, it wasn't all usual, now that
you're the one who bring spring.
I finally let down my guard,
so void of the dark pigment it became, my mask.
But with the spring, bloomed the flowers
no one knew I was allergic, and so I cowered.
This was all so childish
I am, now, aware.
Would it be different,
if you had cared?

Instruments of Mercy

*Image of People of the Dawn by Pixabay.

Instruments of Mercy

Amidst the wailing whiplashed 'neath a moonlit plight,
Against the cowered beast of demons gnashing white,

Angst men in their temporary shanties walled bubbles,
Atheist fated them to wile their skill with steel shovels,

Apologist to the bitter end proves it's never supported,
Absolutist self-denial raw display ne'er to be thwarted,

Awarest who'd weathered the conviction of strong will,
Awkwardest fretted near sunk rocks, lost eyes wet still,

Aptest met their latest neighbor, old-timers now closer,
Antichrist organized bits of their faith sitting as a poser.

2022 January 22

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