By Pratishruti Mohanty, Gina Gallyot and Charles Robert Lindholm
The past
was back to haunt her
with shadows
that bent over
Poems, poets, poetry, writing, poetry challenges
By Pratishruti Mohanty, Gina Gallyot and Charles Robert Lindholm
The past
was back to haunt her
with shadows
that bent over
Yes I know it's a bit shorter but the slip-sliding away this year is quite amazing as it's February's last day Now March is nigh upon us and the winter's almost done so I suspect in thirty more we'll know the spring has come So though another month has left us now this year I'm not that disappointed as the warmer days are near
It's January's final day Tuesday the thirty-first one month gone of Twenty-Three thirty days dispersed I'm not sure where they've gone mind you as it doesn't seem that long since we were still on holiday and singing festive song But gone they have so onward to the shortest month we go What it will bring a mystery though soon we all will know
So to thirty first December and the last day of the year Twenty two has been and gone as twenty three appears There have been many moments with emotions running rife as is the wont of passing time this c'est la vie, this life But there are still remaining hours to finish it for good so on this New Years' Eve we will enjoy it as we should
Today's overmorrow Tuesday will be and the week will just have begun then two overmorrows thereafter we'll see a week that is almost done But three overmorrows, it's not long to wait if a week you need to pass by so take that to heart and you will find that time will literally fly
When the time comes for the mind to ponder
Afterlife and what’s “over yonder,”
violet veins, violet venom
verdant vials, vicious verses
vermillion vest, vicarious vampires
verdant voices, velvet vipers
taut time, tendrils tender
timeless terrain, tainted trails
trickle taps, tick-tock tomorrows
tepid tapes, tallowed tubes
rounded rays, ringed rain
rusted reflection, rueful roses
rivers rugged, roosters red
ridged rosewood, Roman rocks
neon nectar, nightingale nests
nymphs, novellas, nuances noble
nomad nickels, narcotic napalm
nights nailed, nylon noose
By Charles Robert Lindholm
Wisdom
Is Knowledge
Appropriately
Applied
To The Correct
Conditions
Are We Wise?
I Wonder,
But Have
My Doubts
It Seems
That Humanity
Is Quite Susceptible
To Herd Mentality
Leaving The Thinking
And Logical Reasoning
To Others And Then
Waiting For Them
To Explain What To Do
We All Know
Time Flies
And That Life
Is Short
But That Doesn’t
Seem To Stop Us
From Putting
Things Off
To Another Time,
‘Til Someday
We Believe
Since We Woke Up
This Morning
We Will Tomorrow
No Need To Worry
Or Rush Things
All In Due Time,
Someday!
There Is No Someday!
We Only Have Now!
Someday Is The Seductive
Delusion Of Fools
Who Won’t Ever
Turn Their Dreams
Into Reality
Copyright © 2019 Charles Robert Lindholm, The Reluctant Poet – All Rights Reserved 04.08.2019 @4:30 p.m.
By Jeanne Marie – Women Who Think Too Much.Wordpress.Com
And Charles Robert Lindholm – The Reluctant Poet
Sleep Eats My Hours
Like A Starving,
Desert Demon,
It Swiftly Steals
And Devours
My Most Precious
Moments In Seconds
I Awaken Each Morning
To Find Years And Years
Have Slowly
Slipped Away
In A Silent,
Unconscious
And Addictive State
Of Amnesia
doors melt in my eyes
fishes shiver in fright
if rabbits could count ducks
leaves would spread smiles
time is water
taped on an unbending light
these pages stand
high eyed frogs
nights hemmed on verdana
the clever skies come soft
from cocoons of my words
the Sun has its coat aloft
in thick seas of thoughts
By Charles Robert Lindholm
Time
Runs Slowly
‘Til The Workweek’s Done
But Like A Shooting Star
Once You’re Having Fun
The Seconds
Tick By,
One By One
Measured All The Same
So Why Does Work Time
Feel So Slow
Yet Fly On By
When You’re
Having Fun
I’d Really
Like To Know
Wouldn’t You?
Copyright © 2019 Charles Robert Lindholm – The Reluctant Poet
All Rights Reserved – Please Come View My Archives!!
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.