ALL I EVER WANTED

By Charles Robert Lindholm

All I ever wanted

was

what I found in you

THOUGHTS

By Pratishruti Mohanty, Gina Gallyot and Charles Robert Lindholm

 

The past

was back to haunt her

with shadows

that bent over

and whispered your name

MORE THAN I DARE SAY

By Charles Robert Lindholm

I miss you so much

When you are gone away

Out of the reach of my arms

Out of touch with my soul

Sweet Intrepidity

.

Sweet Intrepidity reaching into the depths

Of all I hide, yet all I posses,

Laying bare these fears and suspicions

Collateral damage of volatile visage;

Vast, unbending, Audacity

SHE STILL IS MOM TO ME: —— TO ALL THE MOMS – MOTHER OR NOT! (MY MOTHER’S DAY THANK YOU)

SHE STILL IS MOM TO ME

By Charles Robert Lindholm   

Our DNA is not the same

though we share the same last name

it doesn’t matter much to me

about our genealogy

AN IMPROVISED LIFE

By Charles Robert Lindholm   

 An improvised life

no following footsteps

like the rest of us

it’s not what we’ve heard

professed to us

I Dream

I dream not of titles before my name,
nor of trophies to adorn my shelf
I dream my simple heart stays the same;
that I do not lose my undecorated self

I dream not of precious gold,
nor of shallow fame
I dream of having stories to be told,
and of having a bigger aim

Sunset Senses

I smile at sunset’s throng of small songbirds
singing out while nuzzling their nested fauna,
dreamily chirping ‘til sleep stills them.

The Ticking of the Clock

We sat by the fire and you put your bare foot in my lap.

I was looking out the window, lost somewhen,

then whisked back by the slenderest of ankles.

I came later, to find you asleep, naked, on your stomach,

Red curls spread across the pillow. I

uttered a silent, joyful, primal prayer,

and we were moving, oblivious, as of old.

Then you were ripped away.

I rose, anguished, from sleep.

I Was A Horse

I woke up this morning from a dreamy grey half-sleep
with the February rain dripping off the eaves.
A memory floated by that in a previous life
I was a horse. No question.
A big, brown horse with
soft, knowing eyes. I had been abandoned

Harmony – #DailyHaikuChallenge

.

Directions differ

Fused by a similar Breath

Harmony Growing

.

Within a Dream

Within a dream the voice is real:
A shrill, struggling song.
A door in the floor, I open it
Unafraid and follow the sound.
A secret tunnel spirals underground;
 

Melodious Rhyme

(Please enhance the poem by listening to the music while reading.)

.

Words Spun through willowy Time

Echoing,

Enchanting

In Harmonious Rhyme

Behemoth

To keep a body inside the ribs of a behemoth roaming
along the shores, we question this, this dying within
a larger shifting breathing form. And this,

this rolling, this captivity, amongst the innards
of a faceless creature; with frequent gasping and clutching
we tarry, and hurry along the tongue-like road.

Saturn Peering through His Ring, Dreaming in the Dark

Ten thousand one wings in the lion’s ring,
Holy and houndish in pursuit from mountain;
Trembling are the shadows of the dogdayed age,
Widowed from the Summerland, adieu.

-13.11.16_11:36-

Lying in bed
Feeling her cool, strong hand
Cupping,
Stroking,

Awake

Enter, if you dare,
My dreams’ dungeon of despair:
Come meet my nightmares.

Of Folded Dreams

grass, of soft fabric

        gave me the sky

                 laid on a sunrise

                               sown in my heart

How Can We Get To Sleep Each Roaring Night?

What is the What?
Who is the Who?
When is the When?
Where will I lay my head and rest?

How is a misnomer
Each time I crack an egg,
Each time I fry its yoke,
Its slither down my throat,
My turn in the game of consumption
And conquest.

We

.

Shake your head and say Silence only

Mocking the face of the day with Phantoms

Of what I might have said

What You may have Whispered;

I Cried A River Over You

 

I cried a river over you
For years and years and years
Until all the tears had dried up

The river bed is parched ground now
Dying a slow death
Yet yearning for life
Yearning for tears
But my tears won’t come

Muse

.

The Muse Speaks

In the Echoes of Night

When Shadows are Silent sentinels

And Whispers Sing in Ethereal Light.

The Muse Stares

Potent Power

.

Words
Like a Pallet of Paint to Bedeck a barren canvas with Depths otherwise Unknown,
Stand Ready to unmask me.
Call I then upon their Potent Power to Speak for me in Tongues
I would otherwise be ignorant of, and let them Spill Out in Endless Fashion
That, by some means as I may be incapable of,
Tell the Secret Truth about my Heart of Hearts.
Listen, then, with an Attent ear so each word may Fulfill its Purpose.
Give over the Admiration of an accusing mind to the Power of these pawns,
Which now I use so grossly to Unfold myself
And Muse upon this Dilemma, so Beguiling of nature.

The Touch of His Mighty Hand

Dear Heavenly Father, into your presence we come, as we call on You today.

Christians calling out to You to guide with Your anointing as we pray.

Praying for close communion, understanding of desire for this so deep within,

Rejoicing when His desires become our desires, true joy replaces chagrin,

I Thought We’d Have More Time

 

I don’t know why I have to keep learning this same lesson over and over.  Having someone you love die suddenly makes you ask yourself the question,” Why didn’t I tell them how I felt?” The answer is because

Amber Bird

Yellow
pillow, a sigil mark on the sheet;
carved in by
snotty daydreams, caving
longings, a sweat stain
by a beached mermaid on the mattress.
Noting every
slight,
wrinkle,
melancholy bathtub drama that

The Whisper of the Breeze

.

The Whispers of the Breeze
Speaks Silence to my Heart,
In Shades of Indigo Brilliance
And Bright Luminous Mists of Tranquil Blue,

A Teacher’s Heart of Gold

 

 

A Teacher’s Heart of Gold

The first day of school is special each year as I look up and down each row.

Looking at  new supplies, new shoes, new clothes, what is most important doesn’t show.

Within minutes, they show you who is the brightest star…

It’s also very evident who carries the deepest scars.

The one who didn’t eat breakfast sits quietly at their desk

Finding it hard to wake up and concentrate on the simplest of tests.