A Valentine’s Day Giggle Poem

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If  a gentleman can make a gal giggle,
There’s a good chance that gal will like you.

A Valentine’s Day Smitten Limerick

Poetry challenge: Valentines poem.

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I’ve been smitten; there’s no way I’d mistake it
And I don’t know how you will take it.

WHEN YOU COME TO ME

WHEN YOU COME TO ME

By Charles Robert Lindholm  

I love it

when you come

to me

TEMPTED

By Charles Robert Lindholm   4:20 1/7/2017

I was tempted

but I resisted

it was easy

when I had no desire

when I had no need

when I had no hunger

I said, “No”

before I met you

YOU’RE AN INSPIRATION

By Charles Robert Lindholm

To a woman of beauty,
with a mischievous smile
and a seductive pose

with words that thrill me
in poems and prose”

If Yesterday Were a Door

if yesterday were a door
would you find her hand
where the sunset slid

if yesterday were a door
would you hold her smile
where the memories hid

DON’T BE AFRAID OF ELFCHENS

By Charles Robert Lindholm

Don’t

Be Afraid

Of Little Elfchens,

Let Them Bring You

Happiness!

Copyright © 2020 Charles Robert Lindholm – The Reluctant Poet
All Rights Reserved – 08-06-2020 – 2:00 P.M.

Inspired by Jeanne of Women Who Think Too Much blog.
An Elfchen Is A Little Eleven Word Poem In A Five Line Format
Elchens are a great way to beat writer’s block!!

Please come and explore my Archives here on Poet’s Corner or
on The Reluctant Poet blog

Micropoetry

I am away from glory

To catch hold of lory

Why I Write

A writer of modest talent can only hope one day to put together a word or two—on a rare week, a phrase—that’s worth keeping. This is not the conceit of petty perfectionism. This is just the reality of having a mediocre vision that cannot totally grasp what floats in and out of view. It’s the curse of having an mind’s eye that comes close enough to see the possibilities dimly, but does not quite have that extra something that would make it all clear. The curse of the ‘if-only’. The torture of the dreamer who is granted a taste of a truth in the night but loses it upon wakening. The humility of Moses on the border of the promised land who may not cross over, no matter the sacrifice. And virtue is no guarantee. The world often rewards those of questionable credentials.

It’s a frustration that has to be managed—The gap between what might be glimpsed, a brief impression of something sublime and the skill that, were it a painting, only manages stick figure drawings.

So the experience is one of enduring the sense of of constant failure —even accepting it as the price— to press the cheek up against the foggy glass that keeps one just beyond the truth…. Throwing the lariat a thousand times at a stallion that prances just out of reach, hoping that one more throw will tame the beast and bring him nearer, to feel the heat and the true wild life of him. Yet still, as seems to be the way of the Plan, It is a way to learn humility, and patience and forgiveness. Nothing need be wasted, and the great wheel grinds always, and grinds exceedingly small.

That’s the job. Putting up with failure long enough to feel the hot breath of something beautiful.  It is insanity. But oh, so seductive.  

The middle of the book

I’ve reached the middle of my book
these little friends of mine
carried with me whence I go
and with me for a time

Scribblings out and jottings too
the scratching of my pen
there to capture all the words
at happenstance and when

Meaning

time comes with a lid
no handles to hold
the night was a thief
dark thumbs to wear
kept dreams to count
love without doors
leaves but feathers
till days break aloud
to let in theives
for their tall times

you are the wall
you are the mother
you are the duck
you are the music
you are the night
you are the sound
you are the silence

Miles Melting

And as I travel metal sings
cocooned here in the warmth
night passes swift outside
where winter chill escapes me

Slumber beckons but I resist
taking pen to paper instead
I while away time passing
as the miles melt away

Hiatus

Jemverse hiatus
for just over a week
but I’ll still be writing
and am as we speak

For there’s inspiration
in all that I see
so my pen it stays handy
and close by to me

The writing as always
is something I do
which after hiatus
I’ll share here with you

My Chair

There’s a place in my house where I sit
and, if I chose to lose myself I can
Be it with reading or writing
or music or game
Sometimes Obi joins me
as it is for him safe haven
when there is something loud downstairs
My little brown comfort blanket
snuggled up and sleeping
in my chair beside me

-05.09.19_00:37-

It’s been
2,920 days

Tri-haiku XXIII (August)

The comfort of a
quiet morning in summer
August in England

Writing at first light
and then, as the sun rises
Chorus of the dawn

Welcomes in the day
as I do in readiness
with August sunshine

A Valentine’s Day Giggle Poem

Poetry challenge: Valentines poem.

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If you’re a gentleman and can make a gal giggle,
There’s a good chance that gal will like you.

Evening Solitude: A set of Haikus

If friendship measured
In yardsticks of achievements
Prefer enemies

*****

For your professed love
Abandoned those that loved you
Beware betrayal

*****

Wings are for flying
It will be cruel to clip
The wide world beckons

*****

No words are spoken
Silence heavy in our hearts
Forever a lie

*****

Evening solitude
Raging tsunami torments
Forlorn heart sheds tears

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This poem was first published on http://www.fleetingmuse.wordpress.com on January 5, 2019.

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Why Do I Do This?

A writer of modest talent can only hope one day to put together a word or two—on on a rare week, a phrase—that’s worth keeping. This is not the conceit of perfectionism. This is just the reality of a mediocre vision that cannot totally grasp and share what floats in and out of view. It’s the frustration that has to be managed—The gap between what might be glimpsed, a brief impression of something sublime, and the skill that, were it a painting, only produces stick figure drawings.

So the experience is one of enduring a sense of constant failure, working to press my cheek up against the foggy glass that keeps me from the truth, but still trying to catch a scent of it and convey it honestly….Throwing the lariat a thousand times at a stallion that prances just out of reach, hoping that one more throw will tame the beast and bring him nearer to feel the heat and the true wild life of him.

That’s the job. (Neurotic? Of course it is. But what’s a little neurosis among friends?). It’s just a matter of putting up with failure long enough to feel the hot breath of something beautiful. It is insanity. But oh, so seductive.

Innocence

 

The sound of children

comes in swells

like the sea…. I love

how they fill the emptiness and silence

THE THRILL OF WRITING

By Charles Robert Lindholm

I Hear The Rhythm
Of My Pulse Beating
Between My Ears
As I Tap, Tap, Tap The Keys

These Words

These words on a page
in my little book
I’ll return to again
for another good look
As I’ll craft them and
often I’ll rearrange
for the syntax to work
from a nuance or change

Words to Poet

Words to poet
Poet to rhyme
Syntax discovered
Time upon time

CHANGE

Submitted by The Dark Horse

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Do seasons shift?

Why do you stand in a limbo
Faithfully expecting the sun to remain

You’ll burn out from the rays of its ceaseless continuity
Only to then be eroded once the downpours turn up to your shores

Does passion eventually disenchant like fashion?

WORD SNOWFLAKES

By Charles Robert Lindholm

Words Fall Down Upon Me
As Snowflakes From The Universe
Soaking Into My Soul
Capturing My Mind
Filling My Heart

OLD FASHIONED WINTER

Submitted by Marie Tarrant

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The smoke from chimneys climbing high
Form cloud like objects in the sky
The mist lies hovering over a field
Logs for fires in gardens build
The smell of cooking through the air
With bonfire smoke, they mix and share
The sun is out but cooler now
The farmers put away the plough
Trees undressed and waiting for,

Ode to Kashmir

Submitted by Ayesha Azhar

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Three in the morning
There’s been a raid
Twenty-one for the mourning
Seventeen coffins prepared

Wild, wild and vile
Blood, gore and bile
Broken limbs; still, still eyes
Food everywhere; it’s a feast for the flies

They say your in a better place

Submitted by Sasha Deppen
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They say your in a better place
But what the hell do they know
They say your always with me
As I shake my head real slow
There is no better place for you,