A WAY WITH WORDS

By Charles Robert Lindholm 

They say
I have a way
with words 

I am honored
by the thought
but sincerely
doubt it,

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Afraid Of Love

come
and look me
in the eye

you know
there’s tension
between you and I

A STREAM OF WORDS

By Charles Robert Lindholm 

I thought that when the hurting stopped
my heart would just stop sending
words to put on paper
and I’d have to stop pretending 

What is Poetry?

A collection of words with juxtaposition
Crafted into some lines
That speak of my life and the things that I see
To capture a few of those times

I Am Everything

I am the rising sun of joy,
the swirling winds of trouble
and the subtle breeze you enjoy

I am the valleys of pain,
the mountains of hope
and the gentle falling of rain

I am the sky full of stars,
the stream of ashes and dust
and the high cliffs decorated in scars

Art still lives

art still lives
sometimes in frames
sometimes in streets
sometimes in the waters of our veins

Your Shadows

do you really think
I will choose
to walk in your shadows?

Trespassers, delay and rhyme

Waiting for a railway train
to take me to my home
I’ll sit and write a poem
on the station on my own
It’s peaceful here, conducive
to find a little rhyme
and scribble down a verse or two
line by line by line

Quill

Freeimages.com/asafesh

Scritch, scratch by faint candle light,
deep and long into the night –
a man sits down and begins to write –

Metamorphosis

Can a cigarette warm
the coldness of a soul
that stopped giving a damn
about it all?

Can a touch restore
the blood into the veins
of a body that’s been buried
under a million chains?

~ Thoughts Glide

Poetic thoughts glide across my tongue as dainty feet, waltzing a marble floor,

Wrapped in word, my mind soars beyond the either and I surpass self

I am neither here or there, but, suspended between realms; weightless

Tonight

 

Tonight,
let gravity
bring me down

Tonight,
leave my soul
to drown

A Voice Like Lava Flowed

Once I whispered my truths

to the unfeeling dawn

unheard

my words began to build up

choke me

overtake me

and in the stifling silence

Halfway

you talk words
and I
speak symbols

you make plans
and I
dream far away

you turn off the tune
and I
still hear it play

On The Edge

 

Text & Adaption : Helen Midgley

Original Photo : https://morguefile.com/creative/cohdra

Sunshine IV

Sometimes those sunshine moments
catch you unaware
when beams of warmth come calling
and find you waiting there

this time

this time
I won’t let
your soul fall
into the sadness
you feed

this time
I won’t let you
hurt yourself
as I watch
you bleed

Pain

If you only knew
the amount of pain
that runs deeply through
my every vein
and into my heart
shaking my soul
tearing me apart

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

On Becoming A Writer

Originally published by the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

Sometimes, adopting the names ‘writer’ and ‘poet’
Led her to encounters with the most amazing minds
Connecting her with a larger community

At other times she thought that ‘writer’ and ‘poet’
Were the loneliest names she had ever called herself
Waking up every morning
To unzip her chest, her gut
And bare her truths to the world
Because like others of her kind
She was complex, messy, containing
Multiple truths, not a singular one

Writing at night

In the small hours when
silence is my company
And my pen scribbles words
as they flow fancy free
The verse and the rhyme
to the page come with ease
So this is the time that
the poet will seize

Innocence

Everyone but God, if you believe, is
Innocent of tomorrow.
Caesar, full of swagger, innocent of the daggers of friends,
Mary innocent she’d see a son murdered, slowly, while she watched.
Me, innocent about everything, including
whether a satellite will fall on me, or
I’ll get a certified letter that
immortality, six virgins and a chocolate cake
will be delivered on Saturday by 10 a.m..

Perhaps

Perhaps you were the one
But I knew it not at the time
Perhaps you were my rising sun
But I never took the signs

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.

Water Child-A Ghazal*

I was a relentless swimmer as a child, more at home
under the surface, leaving it only for air, wishing for gills.

In the pond’s murky realm a few feet down, the big bass, motionless,
eyes swiveling, waited for someone’s last mistake.

In the muddy shallows, the sun warmed the water most,
small things hatched, safe from mouths in the deep water.

Book Available

The Most Beautiful Flower

Once I thought,
that the most beautiful flower
grows in the middle of fields.
And among the lush green,
she sways and dances with the breeze.

My Valentine

Poetry challenge: Valentines poem.
.

(Ceramic piece painted by Miriam Hurdle)

It was serendipity that we met.

Summer had not stated yet, but

It was the final week of school.

I decided to go to

This group met at home.

We chatted, we snacked.

You asked what I did for fun,

I smiled, didn’t answer the question.