Why do you show me
such treasure,
only to deprive me.
When you are gone,
smoke fills the air,
I'm misplaced in
the mist of misery,
w a n d e r i n g
helplessly lost,
masking melancholic
emotions.
Parasite winds
bring little respite.
If only they would
whisper my
mute messages,
blowing tepidly
into your heart -
then maybe you
would gift me one
more glimpse.
Then like the
majestic sun would
you re-appear?
Embracing me with
passion and desire,
so my heart smiles
like the crescent moon,
till darkness comes,
veiling your light
and then
you disappear (again),
leaving me
misplaced in
the mist of misery.
Categories:
tepidly, absence, love,
Form: Free verse
Alabaster streaks of warmth
in its dewy first glow,
tepidly stirring the senses, as
my gaze roams to the
trickle of ebony beads;
in the distance,
chimes of granular dustings,
with fragrances rich in
mahogany earthen grounds,
shaking the last of the
quondam night’s moon specks,
as life’s poignant rays
seep deep into my sights,
coaxing myself out of
hibernation,
longing for the first sip
of sunshine,
basking in the early beams of
balmy dawns and
sepia sunsets,
blessed to
start and end the
sands of time with you—
upon my soul’s sanctuary,
my lucid dream ablaze.
"God within me is the enjoyer of the aroma
As also this dopamine boosting flavour I taste
I surrender all pleasures to the dweller of my heart
Breath by breath thus that my soul presence be chaste"
Categories:
tepidly, heaven,
Form: Free verse
But it's Thursday,
the alarm clock rang and a
nightingale squawked
down in Hoxton Square.
A jump start to the day to which
I will pay a price.
Eyes still feeling sleep gritty and
moving tepidly through the
brown streets of the city
I stop for a tea in the Mozart cafe.
Moving on with the song that plays on inside me
I make my way to the Temple
though hardly to pray
Charing Cross that way,
Trafalgar
no battles
just the rattle of a tin can
the beggar man always sits there.
Leicester Square,
tackier that Hoxton
but riches that hide behind casino doors.
Chinatown
more brown streets
authentic cooking
where
East meets the West
I do my best
and that's as good
as it gets
or as good at it is
on Thursday.
Categories:
tepidly, travel,
Form: Rhyme
How Dare We Ever So Boldly Speak Out
Let me write in obscure and chaotic words
stirring waters tepidly unknown
Yet my spirit refuses to admire such birds
or the massive flattery they are now shown
Why yes, some of us write from poetic hearts
with passion and not merely for fleeting praise
We that sail the seas, using understood charts
are now thought to be in an insane craze!
O' that we dareth to sparsely use archaic words
in poems as way of joining with the past
O' what folly, not wanting to be in a modern herd
or be afraid of those that so love to lambast
Cry thee, to thy Gods of confusing adulation
while we carry on in our simple ways
Content with depth, not writing for modern adoration
full of faith that truth and heart in poetry pays!
Robert J. Lindley, 4-27-2017
Note- Old poet, simple slam and quite tired of elitist criticisms
of poet novices, true hearts writing in understood words and
some that seek to exalt themselves by tearing others down..
Yes, this is a slam, but one done in a simple,reserved and more poetic style.
Categories:
tepidly, slam,
Form: Rhyme
Deep breath in slowly let it out
Don’t forget the ten count
Nausea begins to rise
From some depth unrecognized
Churning into anger
Blatantly right before my eyes
This deceit has no problem being spied
No longer can I hide
Seeping out of control
Is the mind I use to own
Tepidly tells the lie
Truly have I been so blind
Realization is so forlorn
As the reborn tail tells the map
To leave behind such an after math
Of the less fortunate triggered decisions
Oh so trapped
Snapped, Cracked
Lacking the ability to freeze frame
What is not mine in shame
Just mine to blame
Competing for
Raised Shore
Categories:
tepidly, angst, freedom, health, metaphor,
Form: Free verse
I love the smell of coffee on my nose
I feel the energy at my fingertips
One sip
dark and ripe like the reddest rose
I admire the way I brew the tender the roast
Beans black and ground to dusty grit
I sit
enjoy its pigment smoked like blackened toast
Half is gone my mug stay waiting still
Warm and muddy juice slowly descend
I bend
throat partake like communion, my finest thrill
The smell of coffee lingers tepidly
on the rim among the vessel I hold
So bold
as like my drink I start my day off splendidly
-Jess
Categories:
tepidly, food,
Form: Quintain (Sicilian)