#73 POETRY

By Charles Robert Lindholm

Poetry =

A reason

to read

Copyright © 2017 Charles Robert Lindholm – The Reluctant Poet
All Rights Reserved

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On Beauty

The witching hour passed me by
Dawn scaled the eastern sky
Laced in lavenders, pinks, and blues
The beauty of Nature came shining through

And all that kept me wide awake
Pales in comparison for beauties sake
For what is Life void of beauty?
But a mundane existence complied with duty

So, take a breath, glance around
There’s always Beauty to be found
And may your eyes be filled as mine
Reflecting Beauty, surreal, sublime

That sweet, sweet slumber finds you once more
Content with Life as never before.

O’Prunty
4/23/17

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Curtain Call

Once more, the roar of applause thaws his heart and makes him wish he didn’t have to depart this stage. Where had the years gone? He wonders. How did each day, so long, become faint flashes of memory? An ambling trajectory of wasteful debauchery, his life has passed him by like a distant plane in the sky. And now, as he clocks out of consciousness and stares across an endless necropolis, the clapping masses have gone silent. His heart is no longer raging and defiant. Overhead, the black curtain is falling and the blissful escape of the void is calling.

The Oak

In the park there stands an old oak.
I know not how aged it is,
But it was here before I was
And it will remain long after I do not.

Every morning I pass by its thick trunk,
The oak waves its branches, goodbye.
And every night I drunkenly stumble home,
It’s standing still, in silent judgment.

Even when I dash past and miss its farewell
In the rush to catch the last possible train
To $9.50 an hour misery with no future,
I know the stoic oak is standing there,
Gayly laughing at my fleeting and meaningless struggles.

February’s Approach, 2018

personal photo

January is on the fray.

As the corners of the calendar curl, await change.

~ Prose (Part I)

~ Prose (Part I)
Winter is nipping at Autumns multicolored train, trimmed in gold she rivals the Sun.

This morning she woke with Winters first breath clinging to flora, fauna, her terra firma

Abode, chilled. She longs to continue her flamboyant promenade throughout the countryside, knowing in her wake beauty blooms and eyes behold the brush of Gods hand.
O’Prunty
10/17/17

Copyright Applies

#73 POETRY

By Charles Robert Lindholm

Poetry =

A reason

to read

Copyright © 2017 Charles Robert Lindholm – All Rights Reserved

~ As Dawn Broke

~  As Dawn Broke

Clouds merged

Fog lay dense, heavy

Ghostly images of tree lines

Scattered amongst the gray;

While Alive

When we fall down, when we land, when we lay
upon the bedrock, do we look up? Or do we close
our eyes, and make do, roll the dirt around us,
invite the insects to have discussion, play with god;

~ Flowers for Mother

Flowers for Mother

 

She picked the petals
One by one,
Tossed them ‘neath
A sultry sun,

 

A waft of wind
Carried them away;
As Mother
Received an earthly bouquet

~ 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

Coffee With A Side Of Pining

Sleuth of my loins keeps himself to the doings of sudden street crossings,
most irregular comings and goings, having an epiphany
at the ferry, realizing that he must go right now, hurry off to
dream of me, write visions of me, lay in a bed of uncomfortable need
for me, address my shadow, confess his most sinful thoughts to my coat
I left hanging on his peg by his doorway, his collar constantly tightening,
his hands constantly needing unwinding, his armpits

A Short Story About Us After They’ve Gone

She is a winged doe, plodding along the kitchen tile,
hither/thither clipping orchids, melting wax, reaching out
to catch the tray of flutes before it falls—
but it falls, makes such a racket, cacophony of clattering
she curses, spouts a string of psalms and esoteric verses,
kicks the chunks of shards and tires her feet,
shoves it in a corner and forgets about it until the night,
slings the cupboards open and demands I climb
to the tippy-most tower where her grandfather’s
old boozy glassware has waited five decades to be touched,

The world goes’ by.

I sit here on my rocker
warm cup of tea in hand
watching the world go by
deep within my thoughts
wondering how things will go
with the world to-day

The Cost

The Cost

I sometimes find

When I hope so hard

In one direction

I miss several blessings

That are happening

In other directions,

And the cost

Of my blindness

~ Blurred Lines

~ Blurred Lines
Dreamy eyes scan the morning mist

Blurred lines; images of the Impressionist
A hint of peach pink peaks above mountains

~ As the Clock Unwinds

My love grows old

I grow older still

Entwined as the vine

Our hearts

Vast as the oceans wide

Our memories

Yet fleeting, this time,

~ Speak to Me

Of beauty-

A sunsets sigh

As it dips in glorious hues

‘Neath that vaulted sky

Surrendering to the sea,

~ I Was Asked…

~ I Was Asked…

Where do you see God?

My thoughts voiced as a lightening rod

Speaking with true conviction

My answers in no confliction

With actions spoken louder than word

I answered, as this they heard:

~ What Heart

~ What Heart
Has not had grief to bare

To sit dazed unaware

Lost within pains whirlwind

Seems to consume, never end…
What heart

Has not felt such elation

A dreamy state of loves libation

Intoxicated by the mere thought

‘He loves me, he loves me not’

~ The Immigrant Child – A Personification

My language not your own

My skin not of your colour

But all have eyes;

These shed rivers of tears

They’ve seen much –

What some call horror stories

Of blood, body parts, heads and hands
I fear closing my eyes

The images invade…as did the bombs

Exploding in my sleepless nights;

~ Thread

So much madness

Disharmony, discord

Souls suffering in silence

Anguish pushed through a thread;

What if, the thread snaps, breaks

Fibers furled through the minds eye

~ My Garden

~ Garden
My little slice of heaven
‘Neath Terra firma green

Firmly rooted seed and soil

Births beauty in the spring
My Eden, laced in ivy

Where trumpets triumphantly rise

To rival the rarest of rose

Reaching toward azure skies
Here a bit of chaos reigns –

~ Transcendence

A trickle in the stream

Babbles to the sea

Skipping boulders, rock, slate stone

A marvelous melody
Crickets and cicadas

In unison play along

Scatterd about the landscape

Resounding, natures sacred song
Scent of Jasmine wafting

~ Someone Needs to Speak, Truth

~ Someone Needs to Speak, Truth
Never in American history has a Commander-in-Chief endured such opposition to nearly every task at hand. From Homeland Security to Foreign Affairs, from his influence and suggestion of dealing with Terrorist Cells to Immigration Laws, and Obama Care.
Never in American history has a Commander -in-Chief been subjected to blatant, deplorable acts of disrespect. Yet he endures; not throughout one administration, but two! His fortitude is to be commended.

~ Muse of My Morning

Muse of my morning

Restoreth my soul

Night has held me fast…

With waking dreams –

Mysterious things
Open wide your arms

Beckon Dawn wake

From silent starlit slumber…

~ Laten Years

Would that thou shalt love me in my laten years

Oblivious to Times wrinkles – youthful, in comparison to my peers
And when these eyes no longer see, an Antigone wilt thou be for me

~ Wee Disabled Victim – Burly, Bullying Kentucky Police Officer

ADHD eight year old student handcuffed! Handcuffed!

Crying in pain, a wee victim of a burly, “bullying” police officer-
This is not justice! This is not acceptable! This is criminal!

Speaking of criminal… Beat the streets, perhaps the Challenge puts fear in YOUR dark soul
A child cries still ringing in my ears evokes a Mothers tears