A dusty sun on a
dusty trail,
almost sundown,
in the middle of Summer.
The west wind brings
intimation of fog
to eat into the
the sleepy heat of the day.
We are on the cusp
of day and night.
My front side is warm,
my backside is not.
Fat dog and I
sit by the stream
which grows louder with
each darkening moment.
The voices on the trail above
grow fainter as I close my eyes
and see through eyelids only
the deepening reds of the setting sun.
Breathing slows, and the rubies
that are my eyes burn crimson.
They are all I am,
ready to catch a night breeze,
and follow the sun.
Masked vultures eat into my liver
Deeply hidden from the eyes of the sun among
these plastic times
This cursed carnival
Come day everyone shell just melt
The timeless on my hands
Chained to a chair upon the top of my alley hill
9. MEAT MARKET
Night of the burning bush and rain
Cries of irritable babies bother
Laughter circles like vultures
Descends on heaving heads that hang
Whispers weave through the wafts
Of tightly knitted nightmares
Blotted night air heavy with hope
Haemorrhaging hearts unaware
Of the bitter biting reality
Of identical continued defeat
Swords unsheathed from scabbard
Eat into willing rented flesh
Dogs excrete and recreate
Cats prowl in delighted victory
Buses hoot in the distance
Approach imaginary final stops
Loaded with cargo and cacophony
Night is king every day
Light is illusion and ignorance
Hope is in abundance everywhere
That corner café and karaoke
That vegetable seller and cake mixer
Everything is vortex and vile
Spiralling in never ending repetition
Farm Chores, They Sure Aren't A Glowing Parade
Brutal cold cuts into young tender skin,
winter arrives with its hard cold and more.
No time to complain- NOT IF we are men,
farm child, time to wake, do the daily chores!
Up before the sun makes it first day's peep
into savage cold, hard cold, to morn's work.
Cutting blasts, such bitter cold one could weep,
we had best get it done, no time to shirk.
Chills eat into hungry brain this day,
no breakfast, working until cold-sun fades.
Why gripe, matters not whatever I say,
farm chores, they sure aren't a glowing parade!
Brutal cold cuts young tender skin this morn.
Such pain, methinks better not to be born!
R.J. Lindley
December 12th, 1965
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: 112
Note: From my private journals.
My oldest surviving poem (a sonnet), written at age eleven.
And based upon my life on the farm and the very trying
hard times we lived and survived.
Edited slightly before posting to meet the uniformed
ten syllable count.
Aching Nights And Hopelessly Sad Morn
Aching nights and hopelessly sad morn
my life torn, ripped and nailed;
each day dark hours sliced and dice,
misery applauding as I failed
not once nor even twice but thrice!
Each day, worries eat into this fate
watered soup- soul needs more;
so lost, lost as three blind mice,
this aching heart dares score
as if my deep pain does not suffice!
Dare I question my dark lot in life
In ashes pray a blessing sweet;
nay, such a supplication reflects,
forlorn spirit admits defeat
epic moaning that never connects!
Tomorrow hints at miracles to come
fine ship, vast oceans to sail;
winds blowing, waters calm and blue,
relief given from a dark hell
a destined pilgrimage seeking you!
Robert J. Lindley , 10-03-2015
Note--" Thrice" | Define Thrice at Dictionary.com
three times, as in succession; on three
occasions or in three ways. 2. in threefold
quantity or degree. 3. very; extremely.
Origin of thrice. Expand. Middle English
As We Cry In The Darkness
We cry in the darkness, the echoes cast
a shadow on the things that never last
Tears eat into our souls, our hearts wept
dreams brought sadness even as we slept
The Hand of Fate, O' what great mystery
death and destruction mankind's history
Lost in blackness that covers man's all
our screams echo back on us as we fall
Light, if allowed will pierce this gloom
we should not race blindly to our doom
Purpose of life can be harness for good
yield not to the plea of, if only I could
Raise sails to set ship onto a new trail
a journey that races ever away from hell
Faith embraced sends wind that so bless
Demand true love, never settle for less!
Robert J. Lindley, 09-06-2014
note: The blind see only darkness ahead.
Once eyes are opened we see light of truth
We find true love is purpose of life instead.
Moments in this time frame stands out,
Serpent-feasts eat into the apple earth,
Knowledge fires get tarnished with evil.
The assault triggers self-destruct modes.
Man endured erudition within sensation.
Loved eve in newly evolved fascination.
Crafted women to love male infatuation.
Your crawls ferment mist condensation.
Vile one you shall always suffer separation
Tempt eve now to bear viper stung creation
Mutate the serpent form to flower carnation
Transmute, clusters into an ultra procreation?
I am the Adam’s fillet within a lovely female,
Think twice before you froth, sing rebirth tale,
Harp he plucks, thirst quiver in his love, to wail
Vanish before man cuts off your resurgence tail.
Just feel like letting go...
without addiction nor
prediction...
your love I no longer keep...
just feel like letting go...
...a failure you make me feel...
...to let go...in the letting go I heal...
For sometimes in my heart I feel
so numb...
...your words they cut so deep...
...these old scars they run and tear...
I've hidden it all very well...
this mask I wear this strength...
but this strength it only lasts...
as long as this truth is harnessed...
...these constant reminders...
emotional disaster...
...these mistakes I've made are mine...
...my heart feels like it is leaving
me...I feel like I have lost...
...truthfully a long time ago...
when you reminded me of the failure
I was...my heart actually fears you...
...your words...eat into me they rot away my
heart my little happiness...
...Something your heart does not forget...
and I keep on trying...how dumb is that!!!