Long Plundering Poems
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An eight-pointed star
Shone in the night in summer
He came from above
Not belonging to the stars
Stranger to them all
Is above the zodiac
Plundering its fate
He is from the pure greatness
A door to the heavens
Sophia prepared the flesh
For she had regret
Sabaoth sent his great light
For he was wrathful
Barbelo sent her power
For she had wisdom
Jesus the man sent himself
For he had mercy
He was laid in a manger
No room in the inn
The world hated him so much
For it was darkness
And he blinded it with light
News reached the dead king
His hair was a lion’s mare
His body a snake
His eyes were bright lightning bolts
Ruler of darkness
His mother rejected him
As a bad disgrace
He summoned all the magi
The wise foreigners
Followers of the fire
To find this small child
As the Magi were dispatched
He thought to himself
“What is the power of him
Who was born this night
Who is higher than we are?
A drop from heaven?
Whom dragons brought to a cave?
Where a child was born?”
Those magi sailed the bright sand
Ignoring the cold
The star became a lighthouse
Which led to the child
And to shepherds in pure white
They gave three blessed gifts
Gold and frankincense and myrrh
As the king waited
In silence and solitude
He realized something
Filled with jealousy and wrath
He ordered his slaves
“Extinguish this divine light
Do what is needed!”
An angel from the great star
Told the glad Joseph
“Flee to the land of Egypt
With your wife and son
To escape the flood of death
To escape the plague
The hot fire and sulphur
That killed the mature
And now will murder the young”
And so the parents
Carrying the eternal
Fled to the bare land
All the little were murdered
Rivers of blood flowed
Loud cries of pain and mourning
Flowed out their mouths
With the king in vain glory
Saying “I am God
There is no other but me!”
The sands of time fell
And so, Mary and Joseph
Returned with Jesus
The baby pronounced three words
Whom none can utter
Lest they be killed by cold stones
With knowledge we say
“Out of a pure foreign air
The light bringer came
Those ones he chose for himself
He turned them to stars
To shine in the pleroma
The kingdom of light
Which the only door to it
Being the eight-pointed star.”
“Phoenix Dreams in the Realm of Crows”
wake up
shake up
kaleidoscope girl
jigsaw
see saw
fit the pieces
she
another world
away
the in-betweeen
flows easily
through the veil
safe harbour
opening
portals
for ocean steering
curious kaleidoscope
stories to sew
the slip stitch
love knot cast
anchor’s raised
time’s racing
discharge fear
or remain
feathers spreading
in the realm
of crows
poetic
messengers
casting their spells
for opening
tombs turning
dead leaves to tomes
in the crowded hideaway
where shorthand, fixed tight to masts,
swings suspended for transcribing
dark nights,
where soft and fierce
treasure dwells
feathers spreading
cunning cuneiform for ghosts
who speak in tongues
transformative
strange letters
unfurling
spreading
deep indigo and
jesserant jet feathers
swords and keys
for plundering
and opening
impromptu places
mysterious better nests
for hidden golden eggs
broken yoked,
freed
spilling silver spoons,
curl love drunk
into warm skinned
velvet embryos
hugging new bodies
of work, slick palaces
for bedding
better never-endings
never ending,
electric muses
flocked
and kissing
sated singing
dreams
in the realm
of crows
the in-betweeen
flows easily
through the veil
safe harbour
opening
portals
for ocean steering
bejewelled St Elmo
phoenix fire stories lit, to sew
the slip stitch
love knot cast
anchor’s raised
astral charting
glossy winged stars
albatross angels
waxing lyrical
follies and flights
ignited, illuminating
phoenix dreams
in the realm
of crows
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Hideaway”/ Queens of the Stone Age
https://youtu.be/2dcbcic06vw
"Let It Happen" / Tame Impala
https://youtu.be/NMRhx71bGo4
"Nothing That Has Happened So Far Has Been Anything We Could Control"/Tame Impala
https://youtu.be/C1VelTQ3hdY
Crow Symbolism
https://www.onthefeeder.com/crow-symbolism/
LYRICS/ “Hideaway”, Queens of the Stone Age
https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/queensofthestoneage/hideaway.html
LYRICS/"Let It Happen", Tame Impala
https://genius.com/Tame-impala-let-it-happen-lyrics
Sometimes, reflections from my mirror,
recall when I slumbered at nature's nadir,
as naysayers whispered in whiskey breaths.
Bewildered, I wandered in the wilderness,
until the mercy of verse reversed the curse.
Poetry you've always been the legacy of my heritage,
a shimmering nimbus, where my words reside by petals,
but if this was my last poem,
it would be the death of an alchemist's magic.
There would be no potion to persecute my pain,
bleeding ink of wounds would have no quill mistress.
Yet, I yearn to leave evidence of my existence,
but my narration is not as lucid as
black pigment upon white pages,
because poetic colours have their own stories.
I'm tired from hiding behind idioms,
where metaphors drip in liquid lies,
veiled within tracing lines of heartbreak.
Whilst sleeping under cherry blossom trees,
I look back upon my life wondering
what purpose summons us,
as I've lost all faith in strange dreams coming true.
I've grown up surrounded by the scent of sorrow,
forsaken in seasonal spheres of fragility,
masticating upon mourning morsels,
adorning garlands of grief soaked in rainfall,
plundering like the tears of Earth,
but even when confusion composed its cruelty,
I fought back to rise, each time I fell.
There has always been pressure
from the heavyweight of darkness,
where I screamed songs of desperation,
as lamenting lyrics resembled emotions of a falling star.
When the breeze blew away the confetti of my stardust,
my heart remained like unblossomed florets -
so I became my own poetic gardener
and planted my own blooms.
Sins of humanity plague me into a withering leaf,
turning invisible, softly settling in sinister silence.
I search for a Godforsaken garden,
where my hands can heal fruitless soil.
Poetry, nobody feels like you,
yet, it's you I sacrifice, before my heart clasps,
as the soul sinks in ideologies of faith and fate.
I can't justify shadows with excuses from expression,
I'm letting go of bitter reflections from photographs.
as it's time to heal the scars from my bloody hands.
Wishing to remain quenched, but drenched in love,
so fate can prepare a grave for my sorrows.
I can't waste time wondering if I'll be remembered,
so, I wave goodbye, floating away like a feather,
executing the articulation of my senses.
The armies they are massing:
They line and ring every shore, every strand bristling with
The deadliest of weapons;
The tocsin should be sounded,
And every cannon is round at its bore.
Fires rage unchecked and unopposed throughout the
Entire world, and mankind, in part, prepares hastily and needlessly
Yet more and crueler,
Harsher atrocities, cruelties
And machines and weapons of horrific war.
Bloody folly and empty vainglory to
Embark imprimis upon the roads to all-out war,
I greatly fear that these are man's fate,
And though I attempt to raise the alarm
With this writing of mine, yet I fear I may be too late!
"Too late! Too late! This, then, is mankind's fate!" It cruelly mocks,
Crows and caws as the ebon raven,
Croaking its dread prophecies in my ever-attentive ear.
It chills even my waiting
Tankard of frothy, frosty beer;
Yet no beer-drinker am I,
No quaffer and lover of ales and lagers.
And still I hold a lonely vigil,
And keep a silent, motionless, breathless watch on the swiftly storm-filling sky.
5. Making steel-enclosed aeronautical, aerodynamical vessels sealed
And brimming only with overmuch indiscriminating death:
Dual-edged, oiled with and soaking in an abundant poison bringing
Vicious death to the poisoner as well as the poisoned,
Man is a violent, self-destructive fool: Lame, impotent,
Obsessed and somehow impatient of vilest death.
Death for his opponent, his manufactured,
Fancied nemesis:
Nay; his NEMESES:
Yet not for himself, this horrid death he dreams of bringing to an imagined enemy only.
Additionally, he hath built and placed all his faith in titanic weaponry of
Awesome destructiveness,
Possessed of the devastating potency of an angry, rampaging god.
And these vile implements of utterest extirpation;
Encased within a very nation of steel tubular;
They are as wayward, incorrigible,
Marauding, plundering, malicious gargantuan
Monsters:
Great, cyclopean giants of a horribly puissant
Destroying fury
Bringing only disaster upon all heads;
Anarachic, ultra-liberal in there dark and evil slaughterousness:
Slaying even their maker, having no loyalty, cold and cruel:
Delighting only in death, wanton destruction, infamy and cruelty.
No man nor nation should possess these terrible weapons,
Yet too many do.
Form:
I
First thing on earth on birth if ye had done
Was ‘cry and breathe’, and survive every day…
Then on O man, had ye her blessings won,
She’d not be in a state so dire today.
Had ye truly believed as ye profess
That Mother Earth’s beholden to no man,
It’s he who is— that she goes on to bless,
She’d never be so weary, weak and van.
She never was, nor is in a hurry,
Her nature is to do what needs be done,
Had ye shown even a wisp of worry,
She won’t have gone green to grey and barren.
If each, a true Earth Day had ever been,
Would ye find on your face such silly grin?
II
No such grin… had ye treated her as should,
Ye scarce did care nor yet know what ails earth,
But desert her ‘pon plundering all worth,
Ye deserve if she shows her irate mood.
You’re keen to know Sun, planets, all the space,
Not, why her green garment shows early dearth,
Nor ye worry on loss of her vast worth,
Nor yet your thoughts go to her aging face.
Not life on earth, you love all things alien,
Hasten to heal some heaven-bound headaches,
Her fever, melting frost, nor why she quakes,
But muse on Saturn's moons and things Martian….
If every day had dawned as your Earth Day,
Would that strange smirk on face survive to stay?
III
Sure, no such smirk nor ever grin would stay
On a face whose heart heaves for Mother Earth
Who’s getting grey from lush green by the day,
So, better rid O man your idle mirth,
And shift your sight afar from so shorter,
Do what needs be done, there’s no time to wait,
Long have ye stared blank as mute spectator,
Be not one to frame your own fatal fate.
Today, Earth’s fuming with long subdued ire,
And like an escapist, ye plan to ditch
Her, be not such a feeble-heart ostrich,
There’s not much time ere deparate turns dire.
Else, breathless you will have to cry when die,
Just as ye did on birth— the last well nigh.
________________________________________
Sonnets | 03.01.2005, revised in July 2023|
Poet’s note: This is a chain of three sonnets making a so-called crown. The last line of the preceding sonnet is not repeated verbatim as the first line of the next here. Instead, the point raised therein is answered in a way that establishes a link.
Once upon a time, I was a beautiful queen, innocent and radiant.
Sparkle with beautiful gold and diamonds.
One of Africa’s top models.
Until they come from different lands and cultures.
Raped me, took my innocence, and made my children slaves.
They stole my children’s inheritance, emptied my fruitful uterus.
My children know to take only what they need.
Respect me and always be grateful.
Doing the rain dance to say thank you.
These evil people left their spawn behind.
Plundering, taking everything that is rightfully mine.
After years their reign was abruptly stopped.
A new boss was coming from prison.
My children thought they would finally be free.
That he will fight for them and me.
Unfortunately, he was providing for his own needs.
Let the world believe he is a genuine king.
He waited until he accumulated enough to provide for his family and
himself.
Threw my kids for the wolves again.
They are name and shame.
“Kaapse kleurling”, “Colored. ‘Malou”,
Not rightfully as Khoi-San.
They fell into despair, why is life treating them not fair?
They fought for him to be free but he only provides for his people’s needs.
Then he gave his title to someone new,
He visited more other countries than worried about his own.
To him, charity does not begin at home.
Incompetent indeed lifted out the seat,
But why replaced by a thug who only sees to his greedy needs?
Married every year to a new woman, thinking with his and not his brain
Had a clown as his sidekick who barks at the wrong trees.
Saying stupid things while stealing millions.
For years they were raping and betraying me.
Until he was caught wanting to sell me out.
Now I am governed by an entrepreneur.
Who thinks he is smarter than all the other oppressors here.
My children endured so much pain and disappointment.
They are looking for a cure.
Seeking the answers in a bottle, needle, or pipe.
Fighting each other daily with knives and guns,
Gone is humanity.
I pray that one day they will come back to reality.
That greed is not the answer but Humanity is.
For Silent One's - Mamma Poetry Contest
Where is the love, Mamma?
Through broken Louvre blinds, you're ever watching
Rosary beads clicking prayers on repeat mode, uttering
Your plethora of Faith keeps me steadily striving
Though, frustrated when peace will be arriving.
Under cover of the midnight moon, hookers seducing
Shady men with illicit wares aggressively peddling
Of changing our situation, I'm forever idealizing.
Enduring every day's trauma, just surviving.
Seeking direction from above, when is enough enough?
Tell me, Mamma ~ Where is the love?
Collective immorality still existing.
A ticking clock morality meekly resisting
Corruption, greed, and deceit still abounding
This life where goodness seems to be drowning.
A depraved degradation of insanity still insisting,
Death, broken hearts, crime persisting
In the chaos, qualms never ceasing.
lawlessness above the muck and mire rising
At the kerbside, a holy man piously preaching
Should I turn my cheek, still beseeching
Amidst their plundering and their leeching?
NO !!
Enough is Enough ~ Where is the Love?
Beyond-repair abhorrence, I'm escaping.
Fervently, I'm hoping and praying.
Please God, Mamma, be safe while I'm gone
I'll be back for you before long
In the eerie darkness, emotions imploding
Sirens blaring, with the sound of guns exploding
My shallow breath quickening, turning back with throat thickening
All the while, I'm screaming
Where is the love?
Back through this hellhole, I'm rapidly racing
All through the panic, still hoping and praying
Please God, Mamma ~ Be Safe, Be Safe, Be Safe
Neon blue-red lights flickering and flashing.
Through my open front door, I'm madly dashing.
Looming through the haze, I hear them saying.
'Sorry, Miss, yet another random shooting
Your Mamma just got caught in the cross-firing.'
The last thing I hear is my own voice crying.
MAMMA ~ THERE IS NO LOVE! THERE IS NO LOVE!
(1.)
A Poet's Heart Speaking On One Current Politician's Game
From the abyss wearing robes of silver and white
shots fired hit and miss underneath sly pale moonlight
shadow-man, dancer in his own one man parade
illustrious actor of scenes very well played
self-appointed guard of illusory born flames
Jekyll and Hyde, ghost of dark veiled games.
Offering panacea, hope some may believe
master of the Three Card Monty, born to deceive
orator salivating charm and lying praise
devious trickster, painter of sordid malaise
words from a jackal mouthing malicious deceit
remorseless scammer, setting innocence's defeat!
Demonic liar, politician through and through
that boisterous showman, scamming both me and you!
Robert J. Lindley, 2-28-2020
Sonnet, ( When Truth And Candor Are Called For )
Modern politics reveal the blackest of deceptions
and arrogant deceit... a critical assessment...
~~ ~~ ~~
(2.)
From Wind In The Willows, To Shine From Stars Above
For all we are, and all we strive to be
tho' we in haste cross the bar, do we see
serenity, that which our hearts yet yearns
infinity- Time's eternal wheel turns
paradox, we see, we touch, and we feel
slaves in a box, each haggard breath we steal!
Hold dear life and this truth truly believe.
World wields devil's knife, as its dark deceives!
For all we are, does not Life its flow set
tho' we in haste cross the bar, yet we bet
more than we now hold, such a crying shame
soul man's, too oft sold, as if sordid game
a stumble, a path blinding one and all
accursed mumbles, groans down empty halls!
Hold dear life and this truth truly believe.
World wields devil's knife, as its dark deceives!
For all we are, can we ever this know
tho' we in haste cross the bar, ill wind blows
as our journeys wind through treacherous paths
we face evil and darkness's many wraths
calamities, daggers cutting in deep
realities, we are but lambs that sleep!
Hold dear life and this truth truly believe.
World wields devil's knife, as its dark deceives!
Robert J. Lindley, 2-28-2020
Rhyme, ( Plundering Depths That Life Too Oft Denies )
“This is what I believe: That I am I. That my soul is a dark forest. That my known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest. That gods, strange gods, come forth from the forest into the clearing of my known self, and then go back. That I must have the courage to let them come and go. That I will never let mankind put anything over me, but that I will try always to recognize and submit to the gods in me and the gods in other men and women. There is my creed.”
(D.H. Lawrence)
"The Beginning of Memory"
Wouldst thou reconcile thy fate
with the turn of a card?
Sweet child doest thou tempt all the Gods
to "Lost Woods",
beckon to thee the Three Moirae,
to question perchance your dreams
spin them gold thread from reel?
Or to romance Court Jesters,
leading them freedom fluttering
**** to the Wind,
a kiss to be sealed?
What beckoned you here in the first instance,
a whim of the heart?
Or perchance to hunt for an intriguing tonic
to tear it apart?
Wouldst thou be seeking the words for a book
carried by other Blue Crying Larks?
Twouldst seem, thou art consumed by
overpowering memories
of some wretched cursed pox
of a dream from thy past.
But time is bleeding into days waning fast,
life’s to be seized to be blunt
Plundering, efflorescence for Kings
to pin them with blessed Purple Hearts
Consorting with legions of temporal angels
to tarry and gander a golden egg pass
Perhaps it is best to seek guidance
from Shakesperian Masters at last
How would I compare
a love joy kind of Sonnet
to better unfurl their Venetian masks,
to a frolicking Midsummer feast in the dark woods
e’er to be lost in the maze?
Is this pure folly or reckless courage ablaze?
"Tut-tut" from the pulpit, "today’s not the day…"
Sigh,“So long as men can breathe and eyes can see,
long live this and this gives life to thee”
So tarry not too long here my Palimpsest Dreamer
My embrocation to you, Deus Ex Machina
(Lovejoy-Burton/Jan 2018)
1. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pA9q6uwcBio
Part I – Plow’s New Home
He was squiggly and fat with dark round eyes.
The auctioneer held him up, but no ayes!
HE MUST HAVE BEEN ABLE TO READ MY MIND.
Five dollars, do I hear $10? …. A real find!
“He won’t get much bigger than he is now.”
My ticker was beating faster and how!
I held up my card; my heart did a jig.
Before I knew it, I had bought the pig.
Ruth had a cage; so we brought the boy home.
He was so much fun and he loved to roam.
Each morning, Plow would follow me around.
Rooting under bushes where snacks were found.
Plow worked in the garden everyday.
But then one day, the boy ran away.
Part II – Plow’s First Adventure
My heart was sunken and my fear took flight.
He was growing bigger, a yummy sight.
Suppose he had wondered deep in the woods.
Or worse yet, plundering the neighborhoods.
I loved that pig and his little pig snout.
Apple in my hand; Plow would take it out.
Sometimes the dog would race him for the find.
The pig and the dog seemed to share one mind.
What would Ginger do without her pig friend?
After three days gone, would our sad hearts mend?
He had grown so fat, safer if thinner.
I prayed to God he would not be dinner.
Riding to town down the winding dirt road,
We saw Plow confined; good fortune bestowed.
Part III - Courting the Sow
Down the way, there lived a pretty pink sow.
She must have been shocked when she first saw Plow.
He was eighteen inches long, not at all tall.
Yet, there he was flirting her in her stall.
The sow was huge, ready for the slaughter.
My piglet had roamed and become a squatter.
The landowner said his sow was in heat.
And there stood Plow with his head at her feet.
High ambitions for a pot-bellied pig,
He went half a mile for his courtship gig.
Running through the woods, he wanted to stay.
But we caught him and took him home that day.
We had to build him a special pigpen.
His days of free roaming came to an end.
November 13, 2014
P.S. Thanks for the Contest! I've finally started my book, today. This is a true story...and there is much more to come. Big Smiles.