Breakwater sunshadow

Breakwater sunshadow
inspiration to me
speak of a time
I recall vividly

When Victorian lines
to the low water reach
with sea-sculpted grandeur
adorned every beach

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Scratch of pen

At this early hour a soft caress
as morning greets the day
and gently, with a growing light
pushes night away

A silence reigns, a pinprick fall
with no one else around
so scratch of pen on paper there
barely makes a sound

Journey

I blog at Megha’s World

HAIKU: LOOK UP AT THE STARS

By Charles Robert Lindholm

If You Just Don’t Feel

Brevity

Time slips in sips of passing vibrant life
as age bends to tend this quiet immortal wife,
yet waits escape in poignant water’s cool relief
drawn to shallows hallowed shore, counting out the brief
spent lives, resting on the oars.

photo courtesy of public domain

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A poet through and through

And now at last it’s quiet
Just the ticking of the clock
and the humming of the fridge
Little here for me to knock
So before I climb the stairs
and get the rest my body needs
My pen must get to paper
as some inspiration pleads

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Expect

“To wish was to hope, and to hope was to expect”
― Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

Behind a closed door
Inside a long beautiful veil
After a long wait
a glimpse of him
through that passing train
 

In wandering and being inspired

I jump over waves in the wind, now thinned-
causing a splash on descent, and the water imbues.

How to be a child again?

Clear your heart of all the damning thoughts

Wipe your mind of all the sad memories;

Clean up your life all of the bad experience;

Sinner

Everyone has their own battles to fight
Own demons to slay
Own sins to commit
Own games to play

THE BEST OF 2017

A Look Back At The Reluctant Poet’s Top Ten List For 2017
Thanks To All For A Great 2017 And Best Wishes To You For A Wonderful 2018!!

Thanks for being a part of my life this year!!!!
Chuck

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Our Feelings

Epiphany

When the sun comes up like thunder

I knew a guy.
Cancer survivor,
worn down to the lacy bone,
thin, with dry skin.
But a light shone through
his stretched parchment skin
like some kind of
organic fire.
The brush with death
left a calling card.
“I’ll be back” it said.
“You won’t know when.”

MEANT FOR YOU

By Charles Robert Lindholm 

I hear voices
and some of them
they speak to me
but only just a few 

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LET ME THANK YOU

By Charles Robert Lindholm 

I want to take
the celebration of
Thanksgiving Day
here in America
to thank those
all across the
whole wide world
for taking your time
to read my words,

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HAIKU: TO MY MUSE

HAIKU:  TO MY MUSE

By Charles Robert Lindholm 

I’m missing our talks

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