Running across hot piles, the dunes of my feet
Across the white whirlpools of winding waves
Inside the dusty closet, your stripes of vibrancy lure the children
Never wanting to dull the daring sparkles, like July fireworks
Blessing your player with volleys of Olympians
Offering skills to those whose eyes lock onto you
When only the most infatuated ones unlock your full potential
Bending vertebrae and crushing expectations
Even the unathletic understand you are not just a mere toy
Aspirations were set by the youth after their experiences
Crushing nets of tangled white, you are the favorite toy of Zeus
Here is where we had our first tango
Blinding eyes and decorating skies
All on the hottest beach north of luxury Miami
Little children and parents alike yearn for your pop of color
Lovely sandbanks and crowded waters of salt are your motherland~
"The Match"
Time falls like a traitor
it smiles at you through mirrors
you see all faces surrounding you
other than your own
each a voice imprinted in your memories
a part of the Word's words,
remonstrations tumbling
through your voiceless throat,
they respond hitting the walls
leaving hollow hieroglyphs
promises that slip,
some self-righteous Umpire
calls the serve landing out of bounds
and doesn’t hesitate to record a fault;
through the backhand grip
your own thoughts
are ghost written volleys
that skim without hesitation
over the net
bouncing towards
the inexperienced experienced
their hearts,
hands, eyes, and lips
the memories are lost in unplugged sockets
still,
they take they’re hit
you smash it back
full hilt;
you think you are electric
time falls like a traitor
and everyone
in their own mind
one way or another
thinks they’re in the game
a winner,
even loser’s think
they’re winners in the end,
they take their hit;
love-all
just the same
and you are lit.
Candide Diderot. ‘25
Today
I decided
not to rhyme
The words
in volleys
poorly formed
Predicates
outcast
covers smashed
Their accents
bouncing
meanings lost
Today
I decided
not to rhyme
Appeasing
some
beyond the fence
Connections
broken
phrases served
Playing tennis
without
— a net
(The New Room: November, 2024)
Sadly he died. Tennis court side' a critc of Novac
And proponent of fact checks, many years stating
Scores checking stats, opening doors grand slam
Tours. newsroom floors.' Maybe often in make-up?
Gave many a take-up. dead, now at the Davis cup
To be sure!.And good words from 'the champion'
Whose name. has been 'stamped upon' the cup just
Time and again ..Djocavic's not being held
This time. a hotel prisoner, just for speaking his mind
On truth as he sees it.' On God given health by design'
Mike Dickenson, sure gave it him; large' by volleys of
Inches and yards, because he beleived i suppose? In all
Of the vitrolic prose.' And then again? his d m; was also
pushing real hard.'
Most games are well-grounded,
To earthen goals they can defeat.
While few rise above the horizon,
With constant volleys they can repeat.
The game elevates to new heights,
Gracefully reaching above it all.
As angelic figures fly beyond,
Earthbound shackles that seem small.
Although clear boundaries guide play,
There's no limit from what divides.
The mortal effort to touch the heavens,
Where the ethereal collides.
Winter marches south
blanketing the world in frost
every time you turn to walk away.
Volleys of arrows from
your eyes stop the sun
from thawing out my hands.
The words roll from your tongue
to he seas teeming
with aliens, buckling
my legs as I sleepwalk on deck.
The gates slam their iron
spikes into my side as you
push away with hands pink
as embarrassment.
The birds fall from perches
in the clouds, tumbling gracelessly
when you close the door
behind you and the
doorknob burns my hand
as I try to breach the house
you’ve set aflame.
The conflagration spirals upward
and the searing current takes
you home, alone.
Refusing Diligence, To Do Even Basic Math
Why do we too oft blindly walk a deep, darken path
Through the volleys of arrows shot by Fate's mighty wrath
When in this wicked world, we could accept light's reprieve
By opening both heart and eyes to truth thus perceive
That darkness rests within our souls, all flesh is the same
That glaring fact, ensuing battles are no mere game.
Why do we too oft blindly walk a deep, darken path
Refusing diligence to do even basic math
When from within, we feel those hard-fought battles raging
It is a war and true enemies we are engaging
Thus 'tis folly to not recognize that fierce-some foe
And find, accepting evil allow darkness to grow.
Why this glaring reality do we too oft deny,
If not in our souls, darkness hides waiting to Light defy?
Robert J. Lindley, 11- 04- 1978,
edited 7-12-2003, 6-02-2022
Sonnet
Note:
Tis a somber reality that we too oft embrace life as a game,
Not seeing in youth, that it is our rashness we must tame.
sunny summertime
an exciting pitcher stands
on the baseball mound
~
summertime sunny
exciting players volleys
the white volleyball
7/26/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
Torrential downpours batter the awning
Above my bedroom during early spring
Tip, tap the water collects and drains from
The downspout to the black, impervious road;
Far in the distance are ominous skies;
Thunder crashes loudly and lightning strikes,
Hurling concise bolts through the hazy gloom;
The wailing wind fires volleys of pure hell,
Gusting and swirling and uprooting trees;
I wish the rain away like the rhyme says,
But chaos reigns and lingers in this place;
I yearn for the pleasant, penetrating
Rays of the golden sun to appear now;
Alas! It has forsaken us today,
But there is always hope for tomorrow!
Fine if not
I did
It spoketh into mine own bloody ears
Mate
Bo
Blood E
Smoking timbers in the hatch
Touchdown
Says he
With the wise head
And the big ol balls
Jewish smile
Racist!
White well-meaning and poor taste of sense
Brilliant!
I heard it
The knuckled pause
The smoke and mirrors
I heard the tutelary
I looked up and grinned
With semen falling in volleys
Oh God
What has become
Of me
Death of Hope
Hope was a beautiful girl, long ago,
before she turned seventy when the pandemic hit
and turned her into an ideal candidate for Covid's
voracious appetite, living a solitary life in her
assisted-living apartment, until one day,
when the sun was playing hide and seek with the clouds
and a mild wind blowing the ruffles of a bird on the tree,
suddenly Hope was struck by the disease like a bolt of lightning,
and she coughed and had chills and high temperature and, soon,
muscle spasms and stomachache and nightmares, that seemed like
a tragedy foretold, until her immune system was overpowered by the
mighty army of virus, building fortresses in her lung and shooting volleys of pain
that reduced her will to fight, eventually like a vanquished foe in the hands of a
superior enemy that knew no mercy.
Quote:
"Without a knowledge of mythology much of the elegant literature
of our own language cannot be understood and appreciated."
Thomas Bulfinch
https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/thomas_bulfinch_306319
Understand, Life Is Not All Sweet Bread And Roses
Yes we that write and boldly do so with deep dark
often fire our volleys, in verses bold and stark
using mythology and its heroes and beasts
hungry poets, we dare dine on fantastic feasts!
Walking through ancient castles, with deep murky moats
with courage swimming in our true poetic oats
Living dreams, splashing ink upon freer page
venting from heart, expelling vile from raging rage!
Yes, such is true, tis not for those of kinder stock
those of more timid fare, that such verses so shock
yet this poetic soul, its search, its true calling
must walk a truer path, else face its down falling!
Understand, life is not all sweet bread and roses
Should we ink it, only as honey-dip posies?
Robert J. Lindley, 7-27-2019
Sonnet, ( When My Ink Is Black, And Verses Oft Dark )
“Playing tennis without a net,”
perhaps Robert Frost was right
Free Verse serves with no return,
day volleys into night
One long shot into the darkness,
an open end divide
Its message fades, an echo dim
—with silence to collide
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
To write poetry on the battlefield…
intrepid from the heart
Its words to cover scars and wounds
grief peeling back like bark
Each verse fired like a rifle shot
with bayonet attached
All volleys sharp and to the point
the blood spilled—turning black
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
In my dark and twisted fantasy
Walk this path and sing with me
Through uncanny valleys
Dodging the volleys of Valkyries
Each word creates a universe
Tied to a black heart curse
You think you're frightened
And I can see your senses heightened
But this is my world
At your fingertips unfurled
This flat dimension I conceptualize
Maybe it can make you realize
That everything I perceive
Is what I could never conceive
Watch flowers blossom in the sky
A radiance so high
I can feel it in my soul
But for this brief happiness is a toll
And for every one smile I'll pay the price
Though you'd never think twice
And though my right eye is slanted
I can see straight to have the truth implanted
This dark and twisting road
Is filled with crude code
And to show you I risked it all
Knowing I've got to fall
Because I'm a broken man
Who never had a plan
I just wanted to know I was worth your time
Which might be my greatest crime
Because I've struggled with insanity
At the height of your vanity
Everything is crumbling
And I can hear the ground rumbling
All I wanted was for you to sing with me
My dark and twisted fantasy
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