Poetry and Prose for any season

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

In Dunkersfield Lies A Neglected Grave



In Dunkersfield lies a neglected grave
last vestige of a precious life gave
No massive stone to mark the resting spot
of a simple man that gave all he got

Town people say they knew him so well
had big secrets he'd never dare tell
One was about a child he'd never seen
bastard son of a lady named Ilien

Others solemnly swear he kilt' a man
beat him with that mighty right hand
Hard truth lies somewhere in between
his life imagined and one he had seen

Ole Stoner Ace was a gambler for sure
had lots of women, none were too pure
Worked that farm, won on a lucky bet
hard life even for a tough combat vet

No church did he ever bother to attend
lived alone with not a single friend
Money sent to pay for nephew's school
kept his secrets, was nobody's fool

Christmas night he died old and alone
his savings given away, every penny gone
Good deeds he always kept to himself
bad maybe but he always was topshelf

In Dunkersfield lies a neglected grave
last vestige of a precious life gave
No massive stone to mark the resting spot
of a simple man that gave all he got

Robert J. Lindley, 01-23-2015

NOTE: Poem was written based upon the real life of a friend's uncle.
A tough old bird that had quite a reputation. Lived a wild life as young man
and had served time in prison for beating a man to death that had stabbed him in
the back in a barfight. My Dad knew him well. Told me that he was an upright guy
that came out of prison and left the wild life behind.
Sometimes life just beats the hell out of you and if you are lucky you still
manage to survive!

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

I wrote a new poem this fine morn.
Just a little philosophy wrapped in poetic verse.
Hope it may be an enjoyable read and perhaps give some
small tidbit of wisdom gained from a long and wild life lived.-Tyr

Those Sounds That Now Arrive In Early Morn


Can one ever believe in this hope and life?
when infancy now has no great strife
Yet soon a decision simply must be made
nobody sits forever in contented shade

In this ole world evil and chaos abounds
chases us like a mad pack of wild hounds
Across flowering meadows we swiftly race
doing most anything to not this life face

Sadly, desperate flaws we all must endure
our souls weak, none so clear and pure
Living bravely is what we really should do
this world's low standards give no clue

Often our silence seals our sad fate
yell or scream before its too late
When that boulder hits you from above
curse it and swiftly give it a shove

Along this path signs will soon appear
yield not to the ever present fear
Boldly strive to give love that is true
knowing, a record is always kept on you

We may see with our poor, muddy eyes
its all there in our imagination skies
A ship with our happiness its only load
upon these stormy seas we must be bold

Are we to be mere victims of our world?
never defiant with our banner unfurled
Nay, tis better we pray for hope greater
follow not the path of saddened life hater

This life is now resting in a true, loving place
faith, love and joy smile upon this face
Those sounds that now arrive in early morn
Yes, I remember-
they were there back when, I was first born!

Robert J. Lindley, 01-24-2015

note: Facing life with courage and hope.
Ending will come someday but I now know I was granted mercy,
a great blessing and true love of wife , family and friends!

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Wrote another poem today, this time for a contest. Going to post here and think about it for a few days to see if edits
for improvement come to me.
I have an urge to expand it but not sure if it being longer will enhance it at all.
Should anybody care to suggest or ask any questions about the poem feel free to do so.
Here is what I inked out an hour ago. --Tyr

Danced Into Heaven On Feet So Very Fast



A man-child that shall not ever hear
echoes of future songs in his deaf ear
Yet joy he found one brightened day
as classical music he learned to play

Vibrations that taught him the beat
soon danced along with his quick feet
A taste in the rush of the air
revealed his music far more than fair

Soon fans paid him to dance and perform
this life he soon found to be his norm
Echoes of applause he never heard
yet praise came in such flattering words

Onward time took him to his desired goal
to hear the music clearly in his soul
That special day was to be his blessed last
as he danced into Heaven on feet so fast

Robert J. Lindley

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Within Sweet Dreams Her Lover Resides


Within sweet dreams her lover resides
surrounded by flowers on all sides
Wind blows to soothe her poetic heart
as each night's loving dreams start

Dreaming shadow realm brings her love
angelic prince from heaven above
Golden palace graces their sweet dance
all perfect in this epic romance

Singing clouds, the music softly plays
as she adores prince's gentle ways
Each dance matches her heart's beats
as she lays in soft satin sheets

Here space and time stands very still
as she embraces a joyous thrill
The softest kiss ever so sweetly given
upon lips of a girl now truly livin'

With every love touch he speaks to her
hours glide by in a kissing blurr
Before each dawn they find deeper joy
as her prince becomes a lover boy

Moments before true romance breaks
a climax through her body rakes
Only then does her prince bid goodbye
as she wakes with a joyous cry

Within sweet dreams her lover resides
surrounded by flowers on all sides
Wind blows to soothe her poetic heart
as each night's loving dreams start


This poem was inspired by the poetess, Gail Angel Doyle's,
wonderful poem titled-- "A Bed of Petals"...
Thank you very much my sweet friend.
I was looking for inspiration to write a romantic poem for
a contest and found it within your fine write tonight!

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

As Midnight Moon Shines Upon Her Eyes


In a dream world where fantasies abound
shall be where my princess is found
Wrapped in her vision an angelic choir
cherubs singing her heart's desire

Her voice soothes every hearing soul
spreading happiness her daily goal
As midnight moon shines upon her eyes
a thought comes to me so very wise

Surely she could come to me down here
easing my hurt, wash away my fear
A soft gentle touch to my spirit renew
help me find a love any man is due

In a dream world such fantasies exist
your heart's desire, anything on your list

Robert Lindley
March 21, 2001

Note, 1/27/2015 - Modern sonnet, written when my soul was lost
and seeking the path back into happiness, back into a world devoid of misery, heartache and pain.
That night I bowed my head and asked for help. Best decision I ever made.
For in faith I had then put my trust , over that of my foolish vanity and insufferable pride!
Now looking back, I see the answer came ever so swiftly..
This poem comes from my "private collection" (intended for my children) after my demise and
is now presented for the first time for others to read..
That night I dreamed of a dark hair angel that came to me and helped me return to the world of the living.
Thats her in my picture given here. My wife now of ten beautiful and happy years!
Bountiful extra blessing of a beautiful son we now share !

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Resting Under My Favorite Old Tree



Lucky bird sings a jolly little tune
of ravishing sunshine in late June
Graced by soft breeze to give a thrill
among the junipers on lakeside hill

I stop my journey into Nature's treat
to breathe in this melody so sweet
Well trodden path leads me on down
into a wilderness far, far from town

Birds fly and scared rabbits race away
as if I did not also come just to play
Hawk flying low gives me a great view
offering acrobatic stunts right on cue

Fish flopping in clear flowing stream
day so wonderful, feels like a dream
As the large blue lake comes into view
afternoon sun tells me time really flew

Now to rest under my favorite old tree
a bit of good food and a nap is key
Then back up the path to my sweet home
God, it is so great to thru Nature roam!

Robert J. Lindley

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

How about a dark one. Written many decades ago...--Tyr



In Desolation She Stands

She stands in desolation
her life a vile desecration
dying victims stink her perfume
sacrifice and pain her fill up her room

Hate and sin her sole wish
madness sits in her left hand
blackened blood covers each breast
she tortures , her victims never rest

Scars lace around her eyes
dark hair flows with contempt
pain invades with her loud cry
she laughs as innocent children die

Eyes have seen such misery
ripping living bodies apart
her lusting flesh the fatal lure
in her web, death is the only cure

Courageous victims fight back
with fury at being so deceived
she guts them with renewed delight
as evil eyes watch the scene at night

She stand desolate
awaiting her nightly feast
smell of rotten flesh in her teeth
her foot-claws anchored in hell beneath

She stands defiant
lusting for putrid blood
screams exciting her rancid ardor
as she slashes deeper and harder

Valiant heroes are her prey
she that shuns light of bright day
greater their fame more she glows
bloody ripping apart sells her shows

None stopped her blood lust
every night-feast a new victim dies
even courage lacks the deep power
to defeat, to end forever her darkest hour

She desires ever bigger feasts
as she increases her lusting traps
putrid blood and rotten flesh stain
her songs of misery, torture and pain

She stands engulfed
in the vile darkness eating
the rotting remains of her prey
powerful monster so, so very afraid
of the purifying light that loving God made!

Robert Lindley
Nov, 16th, 1974

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Started this write for a contest on the day I got sick. Just finished it tonight..--Tyr




I Lay My Desires Deep Into You


In my mind, I am reminded

Sweet nights in your soft bed
longing for your deep kiss
As my body aches for your touch
all of you I so lustily miss

I need all that you have lived
the love your heart reaps
Your perfection and sexy body
make my desires jump in leaps

As the bed holds our hot love
your skin quivers at my touch
I pull you gently beneath me
passion is urgent and too much

My mind crashes into deep spasms
I lay my desires deep into you
I beg for your sweetest treasures
your beautiful living essence too

As we flame into that vivid world
fires unite into swirling ecstasy
I grow drunk off purest pleasure
of your deepest sexual fantasy

The rhythm builds into a tempest
moans match a thundering waterfall
I live deep into your hot dreams
striving to give it forever my all

I close my eyes to make the image
of your beauty there so nude
The satisfaction thunders upward
gifting the best of this fantasy mood

Our lips meet again to finish
this deep feast of heated passion
You the queen of my longing desires
we united in love and our compassion

Robert J. Lindley, 01-31-2015

Note-- I had half of this poem written the day I got sick, just
tonight found the inspiration to finish it.
And yes, my wife is home tonight early from work.. lol
Where did you think I got that inspiration?

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Life Stirs Me To This Confess


Life stirs me to get around,
chasing the treasure I have found
Nothing of glitter or of gold,
just pure beauty if truth be told

A dance and a party each day,
she smiles and gets her loving way
A just reward for her gifts,
her love-filled joy that so uplifts

I've been down many trails,
hit hard, beaten against the rails
Each time she stood by my side,
holding, giving such love and pride

Life stirs me to this confess,
until she saved me, my life was a mess!

Robert J. Lindley, 02-02-2015

note--A man is nothing if he has not the capacity to feel gratitude for a blessing
and openly express his faults and missteps. I've not lived a boring, tamed, or dull life.
For good or bad, much of it was due to my stubborn, defiant nature.
Yet even now I will not renounce that pure defiant fighting spirit that lays
within me. For it has saved me more than once in my wild young life!
I did however discover it could be managed for good and not harnessed for
darkness to play with. Sadly, many die never making that discovery ,
never finding that light.. -Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Find In Our Eternity, Sweet Love

Find in my Heart,
cast away misdeeds never to be embraced
Find in my heart,
a love of you that can never be erased

Find in this Soul,
a friend so gladly embracing all of you
Find in this soul,
true lover that forever loves all you do

Find in my Dreams,
golden paradise I built for your pleasure
Find in my dreams,
a deep love, gentle and without measure

Find in my Desires,
gentle touch, a touch of your pretty face
Find in my desires,
nights seeing you dressed up in black lace

Find in my Life,
a sworn oath to your deep love be true
Find in my life,
to each bright morn, our deep love renew

Find in our Eternity,
a golden palace made just for you and I
Find in our eternity,
united love, as great as a Heavenly sky

Robert J. Lindley, 02-03-2015


note: I failed to write my darling wife her daily poem yesterday(first time in ten years).
So she being playful demanded I write a double good one this fine morning.
I hope this effort will do. If not, then I am lost as this came directly from
my loving heart to her, my sweetest sunshine, my darling wife.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Can Not Wash Away All Your Pain


I can not make it rain,
can not wash away all your pain
Those dark clouds steal,
the joy that should be your thrill

I can not stop those hurts,
your heart cries out in spurts
No shoulder can relieve,
misery or the anguish you conceive

I can hold you tonight,
kiss you deeply, stop the fright
Make a fortress for you to rest,
giving you my all, my very best

You can put your trust,
as my love for you is a must
You can send your tears,
into my heart with no deep fears

Together we can both renew,
this fantastic love we always knew
As I hold you to fall asleep,
let my heart be yours to always keep

If I could make it rain,
wash away all your shattering pain
Moving heaven and earth,
gifting you my soul for all its worth
I would then sacrifice,
give it all, pay any heavy price
Set my life to just serve you,
face against the world, just we two!

Robert J. Lindley, 02-05-2015

I read a poem tonight and it so struck me that this
just poured out. I stayed up late getting it down before
it ran away! I hope it may inspire others to comfort
a person in pain and needing a friend. Life is far too
short for us to live so selfishly as to ignore those
in great pain and great need.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

A Dream, A Message and A Poetic Write

The fields are soaked by the rain;
Within this Universe life grows
Springing forth, both joy and pain;
The world is blind and it shows.

Marvelous are the heavenly mountains;
Their hats touching the bluest sky
Life flows, waters from its fountains;
As delicious as home made apple pie.

This magic prevails against all;
For light yields its deepest fruits
Natures serves the Master's sweet call;
Every tree has heavenly roots.

Ancient words tell this great tale;
This world formed by divine hands
Divine art shines, it can never fail;
Life singing across all of God's lands.

Within our hearts dwells his words;
Thoughts and prayers that ring out
We can hear the melody by the birds;
The loving message is an echoed shout.

Can you hear that melodic , sweet refrain;
If not then listen, ever so quietly yet again.

Robert J. Lindley, 02-07-2015

note- I had a very vivid dream last night and this write
came to me from that dream. I can only hope that this
is the whole message sent to me...

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

For The Love Of Coffee, I Tarry


Just one more cup of coffee before I have to go
the weather is bad and the boss will surely know
If I tarry along and fail to clock in on time
no mercy there, excuses aren't worth even a dime

Yes, one more of the black joe if you please
it settles my worries , sets my mind at ease
I need to drink this hot coffee in a minute
my job is to drive a truck, I'd best be in it

One last cup just for the snow covered road
work awaiting, I'll not be late or so bold
Black magic, it damn sure hits the sweet spot
cranks my brain, gets me going like a rifle shot

Yes my fair lady, please pour just one more
I need the boost to race out the front door
That tastes so like goodness in a great kiss
love my black coffee, morning joe I never miss

Yes darling, I promise this last cup for me
I have many miles to drive, so much to see
Few more drinks to blast me into the big race
to deal with those crazy drivers I have to face

Sweetheart, brew some more, that pot I drank
woke me up fine and I have you darling to thank
Please, this cup of black magic will be my last
I'll bolt out that door, you'll see how very fast

Just one more cup of coffee before I have to go
the weather is bad and the boss will surely know
If I tarry along and fail to clock in on time
no mercy there, excuses aren't even worth a dime

Robert J. Lindley, 02-08-2015

note: For medical reasons I can no longer drink lots
of coffee. I miss that the most in cold weather as it was
a godsend then. Just thankful that I no longer have to
work out in the cold without my cup of joe.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

A Tribute To Frank L. Stanton's poem - Lazy Chap. -Tyr


Rising Early From My Bed, Close To Noon

I lay about and often just wonder why
others do not rest in the by and by
Any lazy day finds me right in tune
This lazy day sings this month of June

Rising early from my bed, close to noon
stagger into the kitchen none too soon
Eat a full plate of eggs and fried bacon
so true, I am a lazy man never fakin'

Afternoon resting under my favorite tree
I never bother work, work never bothers me
About supper time I wander back inside
if I am late to eat, wife will tan my hide

The meal finished, I turn on big screen set
easy day flowed so well but not done yet
A few beers the wife faithfully brings me
sets my sails and fills my soul with glee

Late night news tells me its time for bed
to lay me down and rest this weary head
Another day will come about ever so soon
I best be ready for that early rise at noon!

Robert J. Lindley, 02 09-2015

note: Frank L. Stanton my favorite poet, a simple man that wrote
beautiful and simple poetry. Ihave now started to write a few tributes
to his great poetry. My friend Peter Duggan's poem inspired me to
pay homage to my favorite poet before I pass on. Thank you Peter!

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/rudyard-kipling


Rudyard Kipling
1865–1936

Rudyard Kipling is one of the best-known of the late Victorian poets and story-tellers. Although he was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1907, his unpopular political views caused his work to be neglected shortly after his death. Critics, however, recognize the power of his work. "His unrelenting craftsmanship, his determination to be 'master of the bricks and mortar of his trade,' compels respect, and his genius as a storyteller, and especially as a teller of stories for children," writes William Blackburn in Writers for Children, "will surely prove stronger than the murky and sordid vicissitudes of politics." "Although Kipling's overall career still awaits judicious critical re-evaluation," Blackburn concludes, "the general public—and especially the young public—has long since rendered its own verdict. His status as a writer for children is rightfully secure, and none of his major works has yet gone out of print."

Kipling was born in Bombay, India, at the end of the year 1865. His father, John Lockwood Kipling, was principal of the Jeejeebyhoy School of Art, an architect and artist who had come to the colony, writes Charles Cantalupo in the Dictionary of Literary Biography, "to encourage, support, and restore native Indian art against the incursions of British business interests." He meant to try, Cantalupo continues, "to preserve, at least in part, and to copy styles of art and architecture which, representing a rich and continuous tradition of thousands of years, were suddenly threatened with extinction." His mother, Alice Macdonald, had connections through her sister's marriage to the artist Sir Edward Burne-Jones with important members of the Pre-Raphaelite movement in British arts and letters.

Kipling spent the first years of his life in India, remembering it in later years as almost a paradise. "My first impression," he wrote in his posthumously published autobiography Something of Myself for My Friends Known and Unknown, "is of daybreak, light and colour and golden and purple fruits at the level of my shoulder." In 1871, however, his parents sent him and his sister Beatrice—called "Trix"—to England, partly to avoid health problems, but also so that the children could begin their schooling. Kipling and his sister were placed with the widow of an old Navy captain named Holloway at a boarding house called Lorne Lodge in Southsea, a suburb of Portsmouth. Kipling and Trix spent the better part of the next six years in that place, which they came to call the "House of Desolation."

The years from 1871 until 1877 became, for Kipling, years of misery. "In addition to feelings of bewilderment and abandonment" from being deserted by his parents, writes Mary A. O'Toole in the Dictionary of Literary Biography, "Kipling had to suffer bullying by the woman of the house and her son." Kipling may have brought some of this treatment on himself—he was a formidably aggressive and pampered child. He once stamped down a quiet country road shouting: "Out of the way, out of the way, there's an angry Ruddy coming!," reports J. I. M. Stewart in his biography Rudyard Kipling, which led an aunt to reflect that "the wretched disturbances one ill-ordered child can make is a lesson for all time to me." In Something of Myself, however, he recounted punishments that went far beyond correction. "I had never heard of Hell," he wrote, "so I was introduced to it in all its terrors.... Myself I was regularly beaten." On one occasion, after having thrown away a bad report card rather than bring it home, "I was well beaten and sent to school through the streets of Southsea with the placard 'Liar' between my shoulders." At last, Kipling suffered a sort of nervous breakdown. An examination showed that he badly needed glasses—which helped explain his poor performance in school—and his mother returned from India to care for him. "She told me afterwards," Kipling stated in Something of Myself, "that when she first came up to my room to kiss me good-night, I flung up an arm to guard off the cuff that I had been trained to expect."

Kipling did have some happy times during those years. He and his sister spent each December time with his mother's sister, Lady Burne-Jones, at The Grange, a meeting-place frequented by English artisans such as William Morris—or "our Deputy 'Uncle Topsy'" as Kipling called him in Something of Myself. Sir Edward Burne-Jones occasionally entered into the children's play, Kipling recalled: "Once he descended in broad daylight with a tube of 'Mummy Brown' [paint] in his hand, saying that he had discovered it was made of dead Pharaohs and we must bury it accordingly. So we all went out and helped—according to the rites of Mizraim and Memphis, I hope—and—to this day I could drive a spade within a foot of where that tube lies." "But on a certain day—one tried to fend off the thought of it—the delicious dream would end," he concluded, "and one would return to the House of Desolation, and for the next two or three mornings there cry on waking up."

In 1878, Kipling was sent off to school in Devon, in the west of England. The institution was the United Services College, a relatively new school intended to educate the sons of army officers, and Kipling was probably sent there because the headmaster was one Cormell Price, "one of my Deputy-Uncles at The Grange ... 'Uncle Crom.'" There Kipling formed three close friends, whom he later immortalized in his collection of stories Stalky Co (1899). "We fought among ourselves 'regular an' faithful as man an' wife,'" Kipling reported in Something of Myself, "but any debt which we owed elsewhere was faithfully paid by all three of us." "I must have been 'nursed' with care by Crom and under his orders," Kipling recalled. "Hence, when he saw I was irretrievably committed to the ink-pot, his order that I should edit the School Paper and have the run of his Library Study.... Heaven forgive me! I thought these privileges were due to my transcendent personal merits."

Since his parents could not afford to send him to one of the major English universities, in 1882 Kipling left the Services College, bound for India to rejoin his family and to begin a career as a journalist. For five years he held the post of assistant editor of the Civil and Military Gazette at Lahore. During those years he also published the stories that became Plain Tales from the Hills, works based on British lives in the resort town of Simla, and Departmental Ditties, his first major collection of poems. In 1888, the young journalist moved south to join the Allahabad Pioneer, a much larger publication. At the same time, his works had begun to be published in cheap editions intended for sale in railroad terminals, and he began to earn a strong popular following with collections such as The Phantom 'Rickshaw and Other Tales, The Story of the Gadsbys, Soldiers Three, Under the Deodars, and "Wee Willie Winkie" and Other Child Stories. In March 1889 Kipling left India to return to England, determined to pursue his future as a writer there.

The young writer's reputation soared after he settled in London. "Kipling's official biographer, C. E. Carrington," declares Cantalupo, "calls 1890 'Rudyard Kipling's year. There had been nothing like his sudden rise to fame since Byron.'" "His poems and stories," writes O'Toole, "elicited strong reactions of love and hate from the start—almost none of his advocates and detractors were temperate in praise or in blame. Ordinary readers liked the rhythms, the cockney speech, and the imperialist sentiments of his poems and short stories; critics generally damned the works for the same reasons." Many of his works were originally published in periodicals and later collected in various editions as Barrack-Room Ballads; famous poems such as "The Ballad of East and West," "Danny Deever," "Tommy," and "The Road to Mandalay" date from this time.

Kipling's literary life in London brought him to the attention of many people. One of them was a young American publisher named Wolcott Balestier, who became friends with Kipling and persuaded him to work on a collaborative novel. The result, writes O'Toole, entitled The Naulahka, "reads more like one of Kipling's travel books than like a novel" and "seems rather hastily and opportunistically concocted." It was not a success. Balestier himself did not live to see the book published—he died on December 6, 1891—but he influenced Kipling strongly in another way. Kipling married Balestier's sister, Caroline, in January, 1892, and the couple settled near their family home in Brattleboro, Vermont

-------------------------

Career


Poet, essayist, novelist, journalist, and writer of short stories. Worked as a journalist for Civil and Military Gazette, Lahore, India, 1882-89; assistant editor and overseas correspondent for the Allahabad Pioneer, Allahabad, India, 1887-89; associate editor and correspondent for The Friend, Bloemfontein, South Africa, 1900, covering the Boer War. Rector of University of St. Andrews, 1922- 25.