In a pristine white room
Stands a smiling youth—
His eyes as clear as an ancient well,
His hair as smooth as a spider’s web,
And his flesh soft as granite.
What majestic being!
This...
An unholy vessel,
Whose praises should we sing?
A piece of art—
Capable of completing itself,
Growing and unfolding beyond the maker’s hands,
Then shattering,
Returning to its most primordial state.
As if the world had been flipped,
Then a mirror was placed
Facing the ground.
A disturbing presence
Proclaimed a child.
Unholy Hell
There is an incredible emptiness
that will not settle,
a holy loneliness blocking my way.
They tell me not to think so much,
not to worry,
but the heavy quiet of failure drowns out that vow.
Inside these walls, there is no sovereignty.
Just hands, reaching—
everyone wanting a piece of me.
Only music remains a cure,
a quiet place to go to ease the road,
to carry this bitter load.
I was a proud soul once.
Now, I am stripped to the nerve.
Left entirely alone to survive their quiet contempt.
I dream at night, and the nightmares come to call,
and I wake up to the morning sun
already shattered before the day even begins.
More work is what I get.
No time away to sift through the wreckage,
to find what is left of me.
Just the endless expectation of another’s payday.
Deep in my soul,
my mind cries out for reprieve
that my battered, bloody body will never get.
The void is deep.
The pain is real.
The days gone by are misery.
Tough as nails they reference me.
Deep inside only history.
And I swear,
It was an ordinary day - until
Even the storm paused,
Just to echo the rhythm in your chest.
If only you knew,
What that fitted navy did to me.
Was enough to wreck my soul in the softest way.
Oh dear!
You didn't smile at me - you smiled near me,
And that could seduce.
That navy clung into you,
Like it knew the shape of danger.
Unholy.
And I have been burning quietly,
Ever since. I stood there,
Watching a Seraphim who pretends to be ordinary.
It sculpted you into a promise -
Like a sin I'd commit twice.
We never felt as wholesome and also so unholy
As that rare once in a lifetime chance he had tried to console me
While he was deeply kissing my soft, small hand oh so tenderly.
The opposite of life
is death
The polar opposite of eternal health
is terminal disease,
with unease perhaps lying/truthing
in-between timelessness
and untimely demise
So too,
my opposite of steady compassion
may be your unsettling dispassion
Elation v deflation
of all these oppositional answers above
as clear
as unclear appositional questings
below.
What is my opposite of suicide?
Self promotion?
Ego inflation?
Having all my consuming needs
fully answered?
Or
maybe some uneasy questing
timeless mind
and spacious body
in-between healthy Now
And death-defying
death-denying
death-defining
death-despairing
death-despoiling
AnthroLove Here
Remains part of EarthLife There
whenever tomorrow comes
Now?
As Me curiously questioning
feels like our lonelier half
of We not yet
finally answering?
What could appositionally rebalance
death's final answering Earth-climate
and life's open questioning Anthro-culture?
What is the opposite of lively ruminations
and deadly ideations?
What lies contentious truths contenting,
In-between EarthBody's discommunication
desecrating death
and AnthroMind's sacred communion life?
The immortal heart of blackness stained
With scarlet blood, the mortals bane
Wicked teeth of ivory sharp as steel
Mouth hungry for an innocent meal
The strength of Demons bound in his arms
A young lassie lost to his charms
Face raised to heaven, neck facing hell
His bite ecstasy and pain as well
Then a flashing spark, an angry cry
He jerks away as skin is fried
Beguiling lips not with lust aflame
But on fire just the same
For by her father when she was born
Blessed and given into God's arms
Trusted to his care in faithfulness
God bestowed this power to the lass
Her blood will burn if stolen from her veins
And so we turn to look again
We see the unholy leech on fire
No longer eternal but ash entire
Lord, save this unholy Baptist!?
Her lactation, like mother's juice,
slakes thirsty tongues with creamy gist.
To flush her slick love-chamber's sluice,
with corkscrew thumbs, and practiced wrists,
like a gander she mauls her goose!
If hairy chest stirs those supple breasts
in whorish barns (near lover's inns),
then with my cock's erectest crest,
the buttocks (of her cleft nether-chin),
like meat pies, I durst hurry test,
lest I, limp, err in deadly sins!
But I pray Thee, O holy Godhead!
I durst not be so thus content'd,
when, like dogwood, is my sainthead,
when goes my pizzle unlament'd;
and, like Pan, to c*nt the nunhead,
I've foregone your grace, unrepent'd.
My cleric’s collar starts to sting
a raw, red rash that won’t abate
when world news of horrors bring
send thoughts and prayers and meditate
There is no accident, no chance
the predetermined outcomes state
a child dies by circumstance
those desperate prayers won’t alter Fate
The prophets false in word and deed
are fed by fear and groomed by hate
corruption absolute decreed
blind the sheep and celebrate
This collar now asphyxiates
I think it’s time to separate.
The Christians
and the Gnostics
can either sect be right
Would God omniscient
have created
such violence and blight
To kill and maim
rape and burn
for scripture misconstrued
Defies the spirit
and the mind
— disproving Him anew
(Villanova University: February, 2024)
Once again
Religion
Is tearing us apart
Judaic tears
Islamic fear
Shared values in the dark
To kill
For an idea
Judgmental and profane
Begins the end
The baby drowned
—in bathwaters of pain
(The New Room: November, 2023)
“‘til death do us part” the vampire once said
to his pallid bride, her throat blushing red.
The guests grew squeamish at what they just saw,
filled with great dread and primordial awe:
as the groom his bride exsanguinated.
They caressed, and kissed, and her life she bled
And rose as one of the un-wholly dead.
Exhausted they collapsed, their bodies raw.
“Mmm, ‘til death do us part,” he said.
Later that day as they unslept in bed--
a smell so fetid her poor senses fled!
“Drac, did you fart?!” “No, ‘twas just a crow’s caw.”
Suddenly she knew her post-fatal flaw!
“’Mon coeur, blah blah-blah.’ she scowled in her head,
Ugh! ‘til death do us part!” she said.
Married
to our differences
with hate
to document …
What long implied
today arrived
the last nail
—in the fence
(Dreamsleep: October, 2023)
Oh what a pity
that in David's great city
they built a skyscraping tower.
the which to describe
my poor words lack all power.
Those who dwell in its heights
enjoy rapturous sights
of the noble city below,
where those in the pit
who look up at it
are denied a commensurate show.
Now who had the cheek,
if you let me thus speak,
to call this 'the Holy Land'?
If its name had been 'Babel'
I'd be better able
to explain the way things stand.
Fear Ye Not The Bloody Monsters Unholy Ball
Dance gaily under the sweetest sublime moonlight
While Autumn its too many dead-falling leaves sheds
Hold not onto nasty tales of witches midnight
Or the monster ball where the demons are well fed
Walk the forest path fearing no blood thirsty hounds
Nor coming Titans and Zeus' unholy dead beasts
The Greeks have buried the old giants in large mounds
While the warlocks throw a banquet, unholy feast.
Walk that dangerous path with sword and shield proudly
Your brain on high alert and your eyes all seeing
Sing to Mother Nature too and our God loudly
For those brave in faith will find courage in being.
Dance gaily under the sweetest sublime moonlight.
Hold not onto nasty tales of witches midnight.
Robert J. Lindley, Sonnet
6-09-2023
The selection has come and gone
With many congratulated for feign victories
People's Will bashed as hope remains forlorn
Though the grey fought with their voting power
Yet they remain powerless
Who dares decide for the ruthless,
That solely gains dominance ruthlessly?.
Just tell me;
"If winnings come with cheering, why then is your victory bleak"?
Why has it evoke dismay, and burns a rage in our minds
There is calm in the land, but fire lays on the roof-top
The country is divided at the birth of your unruly governance
For the proclamation is at variance with our reality
Therefore your unholy triumph conflict our assertions
An imposter you are and an imposter you will remain!
So as Sun is to the Day
And the Moon to the Night
For every ounce of downcast inflicted on the nation, upon your selection.
Nature inevitably awaits.
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