A Look Inward At Darkness In The Mortal Soul
Strange now rests overburdened seas and hapless stars
Undiscovered jungle villages that think all earth is flat
Those that slow walk total blindness but never drank in bars
And in the tepid night, those that never hit when at bat
Yet Nature marches without clock or a smidgeon of guilt
It far flies its soul outward for all mortal men to see
In the secret alley truth is stabbed up to the hilt
All the while oppressors wage a war against you and me!
Strange now rests overburdened seas and hapless stars
Those that slow walk total blindness but never drank in bars
Yet Nature marches without clock or a smidgeon of guilt
In the secret alley truth is stabbed up to the hilt.
Undiscovered jungle villages that think all earth is flat
And in the tepid night, those that never hit when at bat
It far flies its soul outward for all mortal men to see
All the while oppressors wage a war against you and me!
Robert J. Lindley, 6-26-2023
Rhyme++
What does a Scotsman wear under his kilt?
Is it Fruit of the Loom?
Is it nuthin'?
When it's cold does he cover himself with a quilt?
How much good Gaelic blood has been spilt
'cause he buried his Wee Willie up to the hilt
In a fair colleen's warm married muffin?
Author's note: Dear reader, after reading Linda Alice Fowler's delightful limerick "Kilt Atilt", I felt inspired to go into my archives and dig up this old chestnut.
If (I / you) were to observe (myself / yourself),
Would (I / You) really know (myself / yourself)?
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We prosper but we also strain -
This "Game of Life" is that refrain.
It carries on from day-to-day
And we stay steadfast in the fray
Playing our roles up to the hilt,
Life's psycho-social endless tilt -
Casting our lots on roulette's wheel,
Love's psycho-analytic deal.
Gazing into the mirror's face
It's who we are in that embrace.
It's what and why we can't explain -
Our Egos whitewash loss and gain.
We strive to find identity
And picture what we'd hope to be.
At times we feel it's all for naught
When falling short from what we've sought.
Stagnating in complacency
We hold on most tenaciously
To limits of expectancy
For what we'll suffer change to be.
Our portraits in the attic wait
To frame the essence of our fate.
The chronicle of life is great
And Truth, through time, applies the paint.
Most will be shown with minor flaws -
Some, as affronts to norms and laws
But all, one day, will be displayed;
How will your likeness be portrayed?
There is a bull’s eye on my heart.
A knife protrudes up to the hilt.
It twists and turns and tears apart,
defines the edges of bloodguilt,
but I survive, rebuild from start.
The bull’s eye shines - I can’t fake it.
Continues on around, around.
Again, repeat – I can’t shake it.
Goes up and down and runs aground.
When all is done – I can’t take it.
Semblance of love and care depart.
It tears my heart to small pieces.
Your aim was good, your words impart
intent for true love surceases.
Observe the bull’s eye on my heart.
Usain Bolt is a phenomenon.
It used to be: "Stockily Built,"
"Shooting like the ball from a canon"
And seriousness up to the hilt!
Along came Usain like a bolt!
Not with the tight and stringent run
But with the elegance of a colt
Directly from the sound of the gun.
He executes the knees-up style,
His chest's at maximum capacity.
And is held out all the while
While the legs speak agility.
He monopolizes not this style of running
But engages all departments to their limits.
He sees that all engines are firing
And ultimately deserves all plaudits!
Death bubbles by
in such a sorrowful state.
A snowflake melting
in the midst of life.
A rusty knife
the tip of which protrudes
to make a third nipple.
Creating nary a ripple
in the scheme of things.
Which brings us to an impasse.
Unobstructed,
Our methodology measures
the in-constitute and volatile breaking of sound?
One cup sound; two cups shatter,
an eardrum rapidly boiled.
Why would it matter?
Death rattles by
Cough Cough choking on
his chopstick nun-chuck
glory road to Hell.
Did I say for whom the bell
tolls now?
Did I mention that it’s NOT
some sacred cow?
Be silly-still and listen
to the feeling of guilt
Measure your Mayonnaise Days
with Infinite Care
dollops of sweetness
filling you up to the hilt
A Fruitcake Day
in the ordinary life
of an insect.
'TIS POWER, TO THE PEN OF THOUGHTS TO WRITE
FOR WORDS OFT' TIME SPOKEN ARE ON A FLIGHT
TO A NOWHERE LAND AND THEN LOST IN THE MISTS OF TIME
BUT PENNED, NOW THOSE WORDS ARE IMMORTALIZED
IN THE MINDS OF THE PERUSERS TO BE SCRUTINIZED
COMMENCE THE WRITING THOUGHTLESS IN MIND TO FREE THE PAIN
TO CLEAN THE AIR TO RID THE GUILT
AND HIDE THE SHAME OF IGNORANCE NAME
AND MISUNDERSTANDING STACKED UP TO THE HILT
'TIS HUMAN BUT TO ERR AS BEFORE SO OFT' DECRIED IN SHAME
THIS FEAR AND FEAR ALONE THAT SETS THE DOUBT
FOR FEAR IS LACK OF FAITH AND HARD THE PATH TO MAKE
'TIS LIES AND DECEIT THAT ULTIMATELY MAIMS THE PATH
AND RUINS THE LIVES OF PEOPLES DEVOUT
IT'S PEOPLE WHO PEOPLE SICK AND IN DOUBT MAKE
WHETHER ONE WOULD CREDIT THE FACT OR NOT
TAKE FOR INSTANCE AND FOR ARGUEMENT'S SAKE
THE THREE THINGS THAT CAUSES AFFINITIE'S ROT
YOU, THEM AND THE OFFENDING SUBJECT
THEN ASPERSIONS CAST AND SLANDERING BEGIN TO MAKE
THE SUBJECT OF THE DEBATE LONG LOST IN REGRET
FOR RIGHT MUST BE THE PATH TO TAKE
'TIS BUT HUMILITY HEIGHTENED TO APOLOGISE
'TIS ONLY BUT HUMAN TO ERR, AND THAT FACT, TO RECOGNISE.
Mem’ries of the past
events in current times,
ways to recall and compare;
messages of our lives.
A wee bit of time
a great deal of courage
it’s what life is -
across human struggles.
Moments to live by,
in diverse episodes;
both action and reaction
that life brings to fore.
It’s encouraging though
to see people of cultures;
working up to the hilt,
to build a future for all.
As an immigrant here
attempts to be fruitful.
In any endeavor to make
time is gold and meaningful.
It’s a journey so to speak
all aspects of relationship
like a pilgrim on the road
he needs time and effort.
Before the sun sets today
must have accomplished
something that’s due
to be shared and done.
Behold! Life goes on
amid the travails,
we dare keep going,
we keep in the game.
Gloomy, quiet and serene
this is the place where I stay.
People work up to the hilt
following the rhythm of each day.
I see and listen to some of them
with wonder and excitement.
Like any stranger in this place
I get to know where they come from.
Now I realize the richness and mobility
That makes me see and experience
In this beautiful city
where people come and go.
As an experience of great value
I come to grips with certainty.
That the world opens its soul
to the mystery of human life and nature.
oh, so you call me filthy rich,
blame me for your fate in the ditch,
and then you tell me to detour
for the sake of you, lazy poor
from all the paths of cruel greed
and hand to you your every need,
that I must practice charity,
that mercy be my cup of tea;
but, why should I take care of you?
I've toiled so hard, I've earned my due,
while you sit, spit and waste your time
telling folks I stole your last dime,
how dare you, lousy lazybones
claim as yours what I truly own,
only by the sweat of my brow
I've become truly rich, that's how;
and then you talk of human rights
while you just live as parasites,
sucking hard on society's guilt,
playing victims up to the hilt,
thriving well on hypocrisy,
your vices have no secrecy,
why don't you live within your means
and work real hard behind the scenes?
don't scream about equality,
life's unfair, that's reality,
just do the very best you can
to truly be a working man,
productive work and mind, said Marx,
beget the humanizing sparks,
self-worth and self-respect, said Rand,
can make this place a better land!