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By Charles Robert Lindholm

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By Charles Robert Lindholm

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By Charles Robert Lindholm

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By Charles Robert Lindholm

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By Charles Robert Lindholm

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THE MAGIC OF OUR SONG

THE MAGIC OF OUR SONG
By Charles Robert Lindholm

I Was Drawn
Back Into Childhood Memories
As I Listened To The Wind
Whispering Through The Trees

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HAIKU: AND THEN I WRITE POEMS

By Charles Robert Lindholm

My First Conscious Thought

Is To Take A Breath Of Air

Married to the Muse

Photo by Richard Calmes

We know dark places,
the things we daren’t see. 
We learn, some of us, that
running away
is pointless,
that they are
mere ghosts and shadows and
lost fragments of us, 
longing to be seen.
My back is ribboned by invisible scars
from invisible claws, from my
desperate, abandoned children.

Still, I am always
looking for the
thing just out of reach.
I crave love, but after a life
of it, I choose to be slightly apart. 
I love women, and want them
To know how beautiful
they are. I love
them that way, true,
but I can’t give
myself to them,
I can’t give away part of me.
Not anymore.
I can love, but not be owned.
I don’t have the right.
I am now husband to the Muse,
and she is always calling
me to a dance of mystery
under a full moon,
on the edge of knowing,
to glimpse what’s over the cliff.
She offers me her skin to write on
and mocks my hesitation.
She’s a curse, a mystery, 
And a blessing, too long denied.

I learned, after long years of running,
trying to be someone
only partially living in truth. 
I learned. 
It took a cataclysm. 
Something survived all that,
some tiny golden thread of self,
though completion eludes me still.
I reclaim my birthright
and head homeward, to my nature,
still able to get lost in a high blue sky. 

A 20-year-old can stroll through
falling maple leaves— 
awestruck at the aching violet-blue
of a Western sky
almost to the
edge of space;
watch eagles
ride the wind above the rocky shore—
live in the promise of a great, great life,
in the long day of
glorious summer
that feels as if it
will never end.

HAIKU: AND THEN I WRITE POEMS

By Charles Robert Lindholm

My First Conscious Thought

Is To Take A Breath Of Air

Searching for Muse lost

First published on my blog http://www.fleetingmuse.wordpress.com on Dec 10, 2018.

Was it that long ago, by

The south seas

Warm waves crashing,

Bursting bubbles caressing

THE MAGIC OF OUR SONG

THE MAGIC OF OUR SONG
By Charles Robert Lindholm

I Was Drawn
Back Into Childhood Memories
As I Listened To The Wind
Whispering Through The Trees

SCRIBBLING WORDS ON WHITE PAPER

By Charles Robert Lindholm

In The Backside Of The Night
I Sit In Silence
In Flickering Candlelight

AN INTIMATE KISS

By Charles Robert Lindholm

I Wait For Her
In The Backside Of The Night
At The Place We Always Meet,
My Old Desk,
Where I Always Go To Write

THE WHISPERS OF MY MUSE

By Charles Robert Lindholm

My Muse
Whispers
Softly To My Soul
Reassuring Me Of Her Love
And Commitment

IN LOVE WITH A MUSE (MY CALLIOPE) – REPRISE

By Charles Robert Lindholm   2-24-2017   4:50 a.m.

 I wait for her each morning

in the backside of the night

in the final hours of darkness

just before, the dawn’s first light

 I long for her arrival

so in darkness I can see

and I listen like a lover

to her whispered words

for me

My Muse

“Never durst a poet touch a pen to write
Until his ink was tempered with love’s sighs.”
― William Shakespeare, Love’s Labour’s Lost

My inspiration
the music to which my
quill dances  wildly
beyond the realms
of dreams and reality

MEANT FOR YOU

By Charles Robert Lindholm 

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

MUSES LAUGH

By Charles Robert Lindholm 

I hear voices
whispering
in The Backside Of The Night 

Calling to me softly
tempting me
to write 

INDIGO INK

By Charles Robert Lindholm 

My pen is filled
with indigo ink
that captures
the words
that are whispered
into my ear

#121 POETRY =

By Charles Robert Lindholm

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Hark!

Stark strangers loiter to scavenge thoughts once hid;
both now bustle briskly under this fair poplar

my muse, she blows keenly to rustle up these tired
parchments – not scratched e’er since autumn

#112 POETRY =

By Charles Robert Lindholm

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HAIKU: TO MY MUSE

HAIKU:  TO MY MUSE

By Charles Robert Lindholm 

I’m missing our talks

THE OTHER SIDE OF ME

By Charles Robert Lindholm

Is there another side of me?
I wonder and pretend
I don’t already know
the answer to that question

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By Charles Robert Lindholm

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By Charles Robert Lindholm

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RANDOM WORDS

By Charles Robert Lindholm 

They seem like
random words
whispered
by my muse 

#66 POETRY =

By Charles Robert Lindholm

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