To A Warrior's Creed, Valiant Death, Fate Oft Decrees
I follow the red line into hot, blazing Hell
with razor sharp long sword firm in my fighting hand
sending the devils down where their demon friends dwell
down, down deep, upon earth's surface I take my stand
I, raging fighter, with valiant blood in my veins
The Sun my only friend as its light clears my way
I leave behind me, nothing but huge bloody stains
I live as a warrior on a pittance of pay
A day's ration of bread and a bold flask of wine
few gold coins for every dark monster I slay
and the great favors of girlfriends, I daily dine
pride and Fate demands I die on some future day.
As life will be forfeit what care I of death's hand
no more than a bad-spit whisper the dying groan
To truth I am sworn, courageous is my dear stand
I am a valiant warrior, I dare fight alone.
My Lord, to an honorable death I so plead.
I lay here glad as away my life slowly bleeds.
Robert J. Lindley, Sonnet
Note- "The valiant brave die but one honorable death"
Mindless Musings Over Morning Coffee
What Is Wrong Or Right?
Whether It be dark or light
Be it in…or out of sight
Wrong or right is neither
Truly Wrong or right
It all depends upon
One’s point of view
Perhaps Unique to you and only you
Perhaps shared by more Than just a few.
Wrong or right are just opinions
That’s hard to wrap one’s around
Formed, molded, conceived
Under different conditions
Mass murderers, Parish priests
Both shaped by fate to say the least
Both lay claim to knowing concisely
With exactitude, what precisely is
Wrong or right
It’s fair to say most know right from wrong
While at the same time acknowledging
The hard truth that right and wrong are only concepts,
Beliefs and opinions held in one’s mind
And nothing…absolutely nothing is truly
Wrong or right
To Be A Poet, Oft Strong Commands Come At Night
Oh, gawd- comes raging middle of the night
This horrid current, rise up and now write
An electric jolt, firing through me bones
Of new fortress looming, huge granite stones
And that tingle surging from old waking soul
As pagan's carving of a totem pole
Words spilling out from a resistant heart
Pen and paper screaming, hurry let's start!
Stumbling amidst and across dim-lit room
Word flowing from life or else dreaded doom
Splash, splash as ink and paper newly wed
Old verses, that a spirited mind said
Some few flavored with Shakespearean awe
Other's cuttings from old lumberjack's saw!
And I, vessel to set these ravings down
Of love, a princess in her golden gown
Dancing slowing across a ballroom floor
One never knows what else comes through that door!
Robert J. Lindley, Nov. 2nd 1978
Rhyme,
( When Poetry Forces A Poet To Wake Up And Write )
Love And Reciprocation Oft Fantasy Of Lonely Hearts
She saw such handsome features, his eyes and strong arms
She - ravishing creature succumbed to his dear charms
Her ecstasy was a river in deepest flood
Sensual passion took hold, HE was in her blood
Could ever reality break such binding chains
Or future nights denied, bring ever greater pains?
He saw such beauty, such grace in her soft blue eyes
Thinking this was treasure reality 'oft denies
His longings then burst forth like a collapsing dam
She then gave that smile that cried out, " here I am"
Mad raging thoughts came of sweetest nights in her bed
Magnificent fantasy born in heart and head!
Party over, neither had a single word said.
Moment had come, now just as swiftly, it had fled!
Robert J. Lindley, 4-24- 2021
(LOVE OFT FAVORS THOSE SINCERE AND BRAVE OF HEART)
I Write And Write Oft Through The Night,
Words Dedicated To All Poets
I write and write oft through the night,
ponder deep, world that slowly creeps
hold pen, in left hand not the right
inking heart's truth, as out it seeps
I write and write oft through the hours
inking what our souls dare not say,
gems of life's beautiful flowers
celebrating the live long day.
I hope and hope oft through the day,
wonder well, how we make it through
hold my faith, oft bowing to pray
blessings for my loved ones and you
I hope and hope oft through the storm
penning wins over our travails
wherein truest of love is the norm
and ever onward our love sails.
I write and write oft through the night,
I write and write oft through the hours
I hope and hope oft through the day
I hope and hope oft through the storm
Ponder deep, world that slowly creeps
Inking out what souls dare not say
Wonder well, how we make it through
Penning wins over our travails.
Robert J. Lindley, 7-06-2020
Rhyme, ( Wherein The Poet Must Relay Heart's Truest Gifts )
Dedicated To All Poets, as poets sacrifice to ink their art.
Four score and twenty years
I rinsed my lids- so many tears
So oft I sigh
To life anew- firsts breathe
To life lost- ye mourn a death
So oft they die
Twenty years and forty score
I'll weep again, at least once more
So oft I cry
Oft have I wondered how wonderful it would be
if there were no fine print
in your love for me.
Even in your arms, inundated by your charms
you seem caught in wayward thought
washed up, and joyful not.
If I dare speak of marriage, of becoming one
there comes a shadow in your eyes
and failings I own arise.
Love lacks conditional clauses, awkward pauses.
It embraces with one’s whole being
frailties forever unseeing.
Do I ask too much, human nature presiding?
Not if time is endlessly providing
and love is pure and guiding.
O' Man, Thou Art In Arrogance Oft Lost
Within earth's vast herds mysteries abound
as man walks in shadows that prance and play.
Life is an ocean that swirls and confounds
such odd, vain and weak creatures made of clay!
What of miracles, for fear we do not tell,
for shame that such will never be believed.
Nights when one just knows he has been in Hell
and was only, by dawn's bright lights relieved!
Silent prayers uttered in agonized mind,
with blessed answers that arrive to heal.
Of lost treasures we thought to never find
returned by way of, things that dreams reveal?
O' man, thou art in arrogance oft lost.
Blindly stabbing that darkness at great cost!
Robert Lindley,
sonnet-
1985
Oft times,
The smallest of things
Are the biggest of all
Oft times,
The softer you land
The harder you fall
Oft times,
Life is a present
Tied with ribbon and lace
Oft times,
The one’s you ignored
In your dreams have a face
Oft times,
The beginning and end
Join together attached
Oft times,
Those doors that you locked
With new love come unlatched
Oft times,
The family lost
In new loyalty found
Oft times,
The things that you're not
—free your world to go round
(Airplane To Las Vegas: August 1, 2015)
Earth Years, Oft Brief As Sparrow's Flight
To walk among men knowing not
world is ugly, full of its rot.
Alas! Gone is youth we once wore
and innocence sings, never more!
To love too much or not at all
past times, sweet treasures one recalls.
Earth years oft brief as sparrow's flight
yet great blessings when love is right!
How we dread, death's eternal kiss
as if its dark touch could we miss.
Pray mercy for those that remain
hold faith we shall see them again!
To walk among men knowing not
live good life, you already got!
R.J. Lindley,
July 9th, 1979
Sonnet, (Looking Back From Those Future Tomorrows)
11/7/16
Originally was not that strong
Oft was wrong
Overnight the wind brought in the fog
In areas where you can see the occasional fox or frog
When I had some, I'd walk my dogs
Around the block and way beyond
Up and down the hills making brief stops along
To enjoy the beauty of nature, and any phenomenons
Speeding faster than a rocket pod
To be honest, I've never been on the autobahn
All along
All in all a lot was odd
I sware some suckers would even con their mom
Knock their lights out, regardless of if they sob or nod
Why is the cycle going on and on?
Stop the facade
Get a job, don't be a slob
Those outlined by chalk now gone
By: Dalton Ogletree
Oft I thought I loved her - her beauty and her grace.
Oft I thought her lovely, the light dim beside her face.
She spoke to me with twisted tongues
and hands that moved in graceful ways -
Oft I let her love me, though she left a bitter taste.
oft living alone
he lost the talent for talk
Dad's eyes spoke volumes
The glorious Christmas music
Rings out o’er all the earth
Proclaiming and exulting in
The precious Savior’s birth.
Each year our pastor takes a rest
And lets the children tell
The story of the Baby’s birth.
Small voices tell it well.
The little children in their robes
Sing of the Heavenly King
As did the angels long ago
The happy tidings bring
My flagging Christmas spirit
Has been refreshed today,
By the singing of the children in
Their little Christmas play.
The glorious Christmas music
Rings out all o'er the earth,
Proclaiming and exulting in
The precious Savior's birth.
In every language, every mode
The Christmas tale is told
And it is just as new to some
As in those days of old.
Each year our pastor takes a rest
And lets the children tell
The story of the Baby's birth.
Small voices tell it well.
The little children in their robes
Sing of the Heavenly King
As did the angels long ago
The happy tidings bring.
My flagging Christmas spirit
Has been refreshed today,
By the singing of the children in
Their little Christmas play.
By: Joyce Dec. 06
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