There's no method to my madness,
no reason to my rhyme.
My heart is filled with sadness.
There's no solution to my crime.
Life is a campaign of attacks,
a sequence of living hells -
I hope that when my cover cracks,
you'll enjoy pistachios in shells.
I did not know how silly I could be about a computer game
Until I discovered Word Chum\ – which is the actual name
Your chum can be purple, red, blue, orange or silver too
He or she can look like an angel, a cat, or a weird kind of shrew
All it takes is money, and you can dress your Chum out well
I have spent hundreds of real dollars on this, I guess I am ill
The object of the game is like scrabble, with insightful strategies
You can throw in your tiles and get new ones, but it takes more than please
You have to spend real money to get the Word Chum coins you see
I do not mind, because there are several really intricate “strategies”.
You can keep some tile, and throw in others, or you can ask for a hint.
There is a method to my madness, as a gamer I am no skin-flint.
I have spent hundreds of dollars, and I do not mind at all.
I have had best game of the week for nine years running as of this fall.
Competitive? You bet, but I did not know it until I discovered this game.
Call me Intense Type A champion; I will never be the same.
Swimming in madness
Splashing diving and searching
For you my gladness
March 26, 2020
4pm PST
You might take this with a grain of salt
Knowing I heard it on the grape vine
Why they let the cat out of the bag
I'd say your guess is as good as mine
They say I tend to sit on the fence,
Off my rocker by not a far cry
That I'm not playing with a full deck
They should let those sleeping dogs lie!
Because there's method to my madness,
And I'm to blame if things go south
So I'm not beating around the bush
You heard it straight from the horses mouth!
I am sitting in my favorite place in the whole world,
my office, facing my brand spanking new sectional,
the one Joe said would not fit in here.
Voila! It is here, and the leather couch is in
the garage to make sorting easier this summer.
There is always a method to my madness.
The art studio which is in complete disgusting shambles, is
attached by way of bathroom, so I am keeping those doors shut.
No need to remind myself there is lots to do; this is my day OFF after all.
Someone, namely, my husband, has turned the air on in my office.
It's struggling really hard, grunting because I have my door propped open.
He likes air, I like breeze. He likes Coke, I like Pepsi. He likes dark, I like light. He is slightly terrified of children, and I would bring a hundred home to live if I could afford it. I am amazed we have been getting along as well as we do. Amazingly well considering we fade each other on almost everything. Spirituality and politics, are two things we do agree upon, and love. We both know it's important to love. I think that's enough, really. It has been so far, fifty years worth.
8/11/17
Not yet a pundit
But I'll reach the top of many summits
Before I kick the bucket
Going after anything I covet
They sometimes say easy does it
Not going to stress myself out about any what if's
I'm not one to pass judgment
And I won't always come out triumphant
No intention to postpone
I came to kill two birds with one stone
On my own
Near and far away from home
And anywhere else I roam
Or comb
Regardless of if the location is well-known
Still many different talents and skills to hone
If you don't believe me, you will if you look into my eye's and hear my tone
Involving similar and different habits
There usually was a method to my madness
Whether or not through the use of an atlas
And apparatus
In the daylight or pitch blackness
Do you hate or love to cook?
Do you realize how much it really took
By oneself or with help and input
Not going to find it in many if any books
Something I will never forsook or overlook
Innocent people wrongfully convicted and some crooks easily let off the hook
I Once Lived
I once lived in darkest shade of deep pain
Breaking hard stones racing against the grain
Savage echoes, I then happily stored
To be released later when I was bored
Method to my madness, I needed not
I lived to give back, as good as I got.
No worries about any future cost
I reveled in this darkened path so lost.
Nobody said, I don't give a damn, more
Few worried less about the final score
Then time finally brought me up to speed
About life, love and searching soul's true need
Now heart demands I give up bad desires
Stay true and squash those hot burning fires
Robert J. Lindley, 12-30-2016
Sonnet
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Words: 108
Inside I'm freaking out
You never said good night
No lovey dovey I love you
Or sweet dreams, sleep tight
I hope ur phone is on the fritz
I feel like I did something wrong
Listening to Christina perri
A thousand years, our song
I hate not saying good night
And I love you before bed
There is a method to my madness
Because of the things that I dread
What if u don't wake up
Or if I don't wake up one day
I really need I love you to be
The last thing that we say
Life's to short We have found that out
In ways we never thought
And look at what we have together
For years it's what people sought
My heart, my love, my body, my soul
I share the All with you
And all I ask in return
Is you share that with me too
If I found I had to search for a needle in the hay,
I would certainly choose to do so on a summer's day.
I wouldn't want it in a hay bale, fed to a hungry horse.
So I must find that sharp needle, and I know that, of course.
I can only search that haystack, a little at a time.
So I must have a big ladder, upon the top to climb.
When I've looked at that first handful and no needle I've found,
I will carry needleless handful to a piece of ground.
There I will start another haystack with handful of hay
That I have searched for needles on this bright and sunny day.
As one of the hay piles lessens, the other starts to grow.
I am sure one has no needles, of other I can't know.
When I've looked at every piece of hay in that big hay stack,
And even through the pieces that were left in the hayrack,
And tedious task is ended, if that needle I don't find
After all else has been driven from out my fevered mind,
I surely will be fussed and not at my cheeriest best
If I should find that missing needle in an unfinshed vest.
Two months of knowing,
that this dream you've been showing
to my weathered, weary soul
Is something real and alive,
and no better reality could I contrive
than one right by your side.
Two months of smiling,
knowing that I'm no longer simply whiling
away my time to no end.
There's now a method to my madness,
a reason for my gladness,
a happiness we know to be true.
Can a man, who does not believe,
Fall to his knees,
And beg some relief?
Can one, who has been given,
The life of a dream,
Ball his fists?
Nails dug into the palms till they bleed…
Look to the heavens and scream…
And be heard?
Is it right to love something so damn much,
That the anger inside,
Rips at your pride,
And the pain is unbearable to the touch?
Is my hate a cop out?
Is it a way to deal?
Maybe a method to my madness;
Which allows me to feel?
Will God help me with this sadness?
If I still fail to believe?
I ask;
Is it me I deceive?
Can I truly let go?
Allow the curtains to close on this show?
Raise my hand in farewell,
And hold praise in my heart for this hell?
If I spit venom,
Out of spite…
Can I stand proud?
For having rode the torrent,
And call it right?
If my tears run free,
With the lump in my throat,
That seizes me,
Can I stare you in the eye?
And ask that you remember me?
Or is it my greed?
Or this anger,
Once at seed?
Now in full bloom…
So emotional,
Uncontrollable,
Inconsolable,
Confused…
Grasping…
So much that I am asking;
Can God help me now?
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