My new poems written for the Creative Writing Forum.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Into A Dark Raging Storm, Tempest And Hail


Into a dark raging storm, tempest and hail
alas, sadly all was to be to no avail.
Twelve pounders broke loose crashing about
some over the wind praying in a shout.

Prisoners chained below all in great fear
great many had shed a tortured tear.
Captured when their frigate this enemy sank
praying for their life and safe bank.

Thunder rolled and invisible hammers pound
every loud creak an ominous sound.
That morn crew had blessed the arrowy sun
and good lord for all he had done.

Now hit by waves capable of breaking stone
each man felt terror and all alone.
Moment came when ship was tossed up high
and each one saw his life pass by.

Next splashing water and cursing the sea
survivors and no ship could they see.
Down it had went with prisoners in chains
sea graveyard dead,no longer in pain.

Found one life boat still there and afloat
six sailors climbed aboard the boat.
Storm had calmed enough for them to see
they may yet hold kids on their knee.

No longer daring to swear and deeply curse
thanks gave having survived the worse.
No time to mourn the stormy sea taken dead
each prayed to a merciful God instead!

Robert J. Lindley, 10-21-2015

Note-
(1.) "frigate"-
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frigate
Wikipedia
A frigate /'fr?g?t/ is any of several types of warship, the term having been used for ships of various sizes and roles over the last few centuries. In the 17th century, this term was used for any warship built for speed and maneuverability, the description often used being "frigate-built"

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Twelve-pound_cannon

(2. )"Twelve pounder" :
The twelve-pound cannon is a cannon that fires twelve-pound projectiles
from its barrel, as well as grapeshot, chainshot, shrapnel, and later
shells and canister shot.[1] It was first used during the Tudor
period[2] and was commonly used during the Napoleonic Wars, 1799-1815.
At this time 12 lbers were largest caliber of long-barreled field
pieces, and were used both at long range against fortifications and
troop concentrations using round shot and against attacking infantry
and cavalry using canister shot. As such the 12 lber was a favorite
weapon of the Grande Armée. Later, redesigned 12 lbs were named after
Napoleon III and found heavy use during the American Civil War.
12-pounders were also carried on naval vessels of various sizes.
Unlike their land based cousins, such weapons were considered light
by naval standards. They formed the main armament of smaller frigates,
and were used on the upper decks of larger vessels, where their
relatively lighter weight would not be a problem. They were commonly
found on the quarterdeck of British Ships of the line like HMS Victory
though their main weapons were the larger 24 and 32 pound cannon,
capable of shattering the hulls of enemy warships and killing the gun
crews with a deadly shower of splinters.[3]

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Trees Skyward All In Pride Astreamin'

Nature holds the key..... "go deo"
Forested scenes ....... so sweet they may be
Trees skyward all in pride astreamin'
Great blue clouds areachin'
Roots in earth ... borrowing and adreamin'
World looks on in darkness as it is scheming
..... Dastardly over-reaching, greed apreachin'
Destruction in the raping of Nature's hoard
Mankind in his eternal blight and folly
............. Never in the morrow
Thinking of the great sorrow,
Loss of Nature's magnificence in our dreaming
Remains sad and lost in man's epic scheming!

Robert J. Lindley, 10-21-2015

Note- "go deo"
http://www.irishionary.com/dictionary/1445/go-deo/
go deo - adverb - "forever"
Validated

http://www.irishgaelictranslator.com...opic57086.html
In songs there are examples of "go deo" used in a non-negative context.
For example, in the song by Altan ’Time has passed’

"Mo ghrá go deo i lár mo chroí
Mo ghrá go deo, fhad a bheas mé beo"
Is fearr Gaeilg chliste ná Gaeilg bhriste

Learn the sounds of Irish here:
http://loig.cheveau.ifrance.com/irish/i ... ounds.html & http://annexedicoirlfr.ifrance.com/
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Tribute poem to my good friend and great poet, Arthur Vaso. I could think of no better way to pay tribute
to my friend Arthur than my writing a poem using this form and citing the fantastic poem he composed
when presenting it!

This form is from - Best Arthur Vaso Poems,
titled Mega Death.

Form: Infinite Dot Thirteen Verse

Is a rare form of poetry, where by the poem is made
up of thirteen lines and within the poem has
interspersed dots for emphasis on the spoken word.
However the total number of dots must add up to 33,
and the additions to arrive at this number must
have significance. Examples would be 16/17 or
10/10/13 or mystical such as 12/12/9 and you can
subdivide the 12 say as 7/5 to equal 12. In this
example I Used the combination 6/3//7/5/12

Below: Arthur's excellent poem that inspired this tribute.

Mega Death

All my friends have..... gone
Underground ....... they rest at my bare feet
Leaves blowing sequestered on this barren earth
Grey skies melodies of wistful sad notes
Lovers too... have died on me
.....underground they lie
The heart is a terrible cavern of loss
Alone, I amble to and fro
Knowing full well
I too have died
Infinite is
Death
My judgment soon to arrive ............underground

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

The Soul Of Man Invincible


I have longed for the sea, for wandering by those islands
Where ever blue sunlight gleams;
I have longed for a mountain home, for sleep and silence
And star-winds through my dreams;
But deep in other tumult than thunder of rolling tides,
Far below those uplands where holy rest abides,
He has shown me the way of victory, the pilgrim road that leads
Through murmuring crowds, through cities throb,
Through human thoughts and deeds,
Through smoke and dust and agony to red and sodden ways
Where the reapers of living harvest toil on these dauntless days,
With the sea of sorrow about them, and death-winds moaning past
The soul of man invincible, triumphant to the last.

R.J. Lindley
Nov.13th, 1971


Note- I was 17 when I wrote this and have no memory of what inspired
it. Perhaps inspired by a story I had read..-Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

In Farewell

For thee
I build no sepulcher; thy memory,
The intimations of thy soul's ascension
Shall freedom have to roam a wider world
Than hearts have dreamed of.
They who think thee dead
But use a foolish word that is no more
Than blown leaf of winter. To be dead.
Is but a thoughtless thought, the word of them
That follow not glory that is gone,
But linger with the stones one gaily trod,
The embers of the chilly hearth one tended
Whom radiance foldeth now.

That starry tomb
Hath many windows, into timeless hours
And seasons of imperishable harvest;
Thy wandering is music, and thy rest
Even as the woodland stillness.

R.J. Lindley
Aug 23, 1973

Note- I wrote this centuries ago upon the
death of a dear friend. She passed on like
a snow storm in July. No stars to light her way
into the paradise that we had imagined within
our grasp.

Eius lumen non manet,
Spiritus eius CALS ME ad cor eius.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Destiny and The Great Gamble

Destiny's reality invades Isle of Hope and Spirit
roaring echoes from cavernous pits.
Crowding out night-bird's song, none can hear it
epic song of relief wherein mercy sits!

A missed storm wraps time and fortune;
life bestows blessings in glimmering shades-
To those that seek a fairer trail,
world gifts sweetness in love's parades.

And good fortune without fail.
And good fortune without fail.
And good fortune without fail.

R.J. Lindley
early 70's..

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Ye Great Goddesses And Water Nymphs Of Old

Tis not of your sweet beauty I do now write
ye great goddesses and water nymphs of old.
Rather your images in poetic,fanciful flight
of chaste virtue and your beauty I am sold.


Poets have graced thee in power of flight
be it in the air or in clear water ye flee.
By grace of day you hold off chill of night
Mystical flying images bring poetry from me.


Wherein bluest ocean waves my mind embrace
there rests tales and odes written to you.
I plead ignorance of all virtues of grace
Yet in humble poetic verse give ye your due.


Your fame now rests in hearts oceans deep
with joy found in your tales poetically told.
Dream of your all,mind now restful in sleep
And long for your touch,be it ever so bold.


Sweet nymphs, may your grace forever shine
these mortal hearts long to again to see.
Your water dancing in morn's light so fine
as we desire just a gentle touch from thee.


Tis not of your sweet beauty I do now write
ye great goddesses and water nymphs of old.
Rather your images in poetic,fanciful flight
of chaste virtue and your beauty I am sold.

Robert J. Lindley, 10-24-2015

Note- Dedicated to Andrea, whose advice about
my writing in classic poetry form I now present
my answer in this mixed verse version.
Thanks Andrea.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

The Unknown Beloved

One there is who speaketh to me
Whose language I may not know,
And yet the sweet words of her gravity
Haunt me wherever I go;
And the wounding words she uttereth, in tears
Of infinite pity and grace,
Are unto me companions through the years
I may not see her face.
She is the wandering spirit that eludes
My waking sense,
The joy, the mystery, the soul that broods
In all that passeth hence;
Near as my heart is she, deep in the night
As unto her I yearn,
Yet further than the furthest worlds of light
That in lost regions burn.

R.J. Lindley
April 20th, 1975


Note- Another poem from my private journal.
How I long to return to those years and write
4 or 5 inspired hours every night!
SADLY MOST OF THAT DECADES WORK BURNED.

[LongTermGuy]

The Unknown Beloved

One there is who speaketh to me
Whose language I may not know,
And yet the sweet words of her gravity
Haunt me wherever I go;
And the wounding words she uttereth, in tears
Of infinite pity and grace,
Are unto me companions through the years
I may not see her face.
She is the wandering spirit that eludes
My waking sense,
The joy, the mystery, the soul that broods
In all that passeth hence;
Near as my heart is she, deep in the night
As unto her I yearn,
Yet further than the furthest worlds of light
That in lost regions burn.

R.J. Lindley
April 20th, 1975


Note- Another poem from my private journal.
How I long to return to those years and write
4 or 5 inspired hours every night!
SADLY MOST OF THAT DECADES WORK BURNED.

Nice Tyr...I like this one....

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Take This Stinking Keyboard And Shove It
(Tribute to Johnny Paycheck)


Take this stinking keyboard and shove it
I ain't awritin' here damn no more.
Gone is my inspiration, O' how I loved it
damn it flew out the back door!

My muse, she done left me in a hard pinch
with another unfinished score.
Wicked her anger and she don't give an inch
no matter how hard I implore.

Last night her fleeing with my heartaches
she dared called me "poetic bore".
I write and rewrite, no matter how many takes
my poems still hit the damn floor!

So take this damn old pen and just shove it
I ain't penning here no more.
Gone is the ardor, O' how I dearly loved it
down so very deep in my core.

My muse, she done ran away all ascreamin'
raced away to a foreign shore.
This is a damn nightmare, I ain't adreamin'
never been this damn bad before!

Take this stinking keyboard and shove it
I ain't awritin' here no damn more.
Gone is my inspiration, O' how I loved it
damn it flew out the back door!

Robert J. Lindley, 10-25-2015

Note : Tribute given to Johnny Paycheck, for his version
of , "Take This Job and Shove It" , with additional tribute
to the musical genius , singer/songwriter David Allan Coe ..

(1.)- Johnny Paycheck
Donald Eugene Lytle (May 31, 1938 – February 19, 2003),
better known by his stage name Johnny Paycheck,[1] was
an American country music singer, multi-instrumentalist
and Grand Ole Opry member most famous for recording the
David Allan Coe song "Take This Job and Shove It". He
achieved his greatest success in the 1970s as a major
force in country music's "Outlaw Movement" popularized
by artists such as David Allan Coe, Waylon Jennings,
Willie Nelson, Billy Joe Shaver, and Merle Haggard.
In the 1980s, his music career slowed for drug, alcohol
and legal problems. He served a prison sentence in the
early 1990s and his declining health effectively ended
his career in early 2000.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

My Dance With The Devil

I dreamed of darkness in a room round
there were in it boxes dark black.
Opening each nothing in it was found
except a worn and torn empty sack.

After the heavy lids I then closed
strange figure sat in the corner.
And there it smiled big as it posed
hat removed, it was a two horner!

Now give the devil his credit and due
for in his hand a snake appeared.
Why on earth it laughed I had no clue
I was shaken and much a'feared!

As it crawled over to my shaking feet
devil rose to dance a jolly jig.
Music played to a dark, horrific beat
and my wide eyes got saucer big.

In fear, I stomped the snake into mush
devil only laughed hard at me.
With a wicked grin and whispered hush
told me what the cost would be.

Say I was shocked, hell I was floored
his price was a dance with me.
A fine, lively jig because he was bored
only then did clawed feet I see!

Music played another lively little beat
my arm he grabbed and we danced.
While my eyes never left his clawed feet
in his delight, my how he pranced!

Finished he took himself a mighty big bow
into sacks in the boxes he leaped.
Now my mind wondered what and the how
was devil's torment next be reaped!

The boxes vanished leaving sacks of gold
there was gold coins in each sack.
Now I believe every devil story I am told
and pray -
Like hell, my dancing partner comes back!

R.J. Lindley

Note- From my private journal. I was 18 when I
wrote this one. I think I thought it quite funny.
Sept 12th, 1972

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

After The Golden Sunset Gleam

Here beneath the stars,
Far from the whispering eaves,
Tell me thy tidings.
Be they dark as northern light
I will not fail or falter.


I have built for thee
A dwelling of green pine boughs,
O silent guest.
A light to guide thy coming
Have I set : here to take my rest.


After the golden sunset, gleam
Cool silvery tones of waning light;
The Winter-lonely fallows dream
Into the ghostliness of night.


Far off, yet looming strangely near,
With starry heaven aureoled,
Dark mountain ranges westward rear
Their guardian towers as of old.

R.J. Lindley
Feb 20th , 1976

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Miracula

So far away the secrets lie
Within ourselves, so deep they go
In catacombs of memory,
Ten thousand years below.

And life is an hour's sun
Upon a lonely island peak
Whose mighty base leviathan
Scarce roundeth in a week.

Yet every tiny flower and shell,
And every flash of human thought,
Are worlds as wide as heaven and hell,
As wonderfully wrought.

Robert J. Lindley, 10-28-2015

(1). "Miracula"

1 French
1.1 Pronunciation
1.2 Verb
2 Latin
2.1 Noun
French[edit]
Pronunciation[edit]
Homophones: miraculas, miraculât
Verb[edit]
miracula
third-person singular past historic of miraculer
Latin[edit]
Noun[edit]
mīrācula
nominative plural of mīrāculum
accusative plural of mīrāculum
vocative plural of mīrāculum

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Aye, No Glory


Aye, its there my tale. A tale I once knew well
A tale with life devoid of glory. Aye, no glory
Those deep secrets I never tell, what a story-
Hell, once I knew it all, even the dank smell.

Tale told once too often. The shades all stayed
Only the stinkin' rhythm, it never held glory-
And those dark secrets I never tell. Aye no glory
Yet mysteries emerged, so dark. Well played.

Aye, a tale to hold. Aye, with no glory. A cry
And steps into a dark hour. Blood, no glory-
If my she, if she knew the whole black story
The why of its darkness, and never, never why!

Aye, wherein lies my tale. A tale I told well
Missteps in dangerous times. Aye, no glory
Buried now, the ravages of time and- no story
Aye, feel it all. Flames. No glory in Hell!

Aye, its there my tale. A tale I once knew well
A tale with life devoid of glory. Aye, no glory
Those deep secrets I never tell, what a story-
Hell, once I knew it all, even the dank smell.

R.J. Lindley
Sept 10th, 1981

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Written today for a contest .. New poetry form named Poet's Dozen...

Native American Prayer, In A Poet's Dozen Recantation
-------------------------------------------------------------------by Robert Lindley

fallen fruit exists
earthen harvest and ground meet
jars in the pantry

Earth does wrap its big heart in heavenly beauty of Nature
Sadly mankind conquers,divides and deals in nomenclature!

Shall we ever discover our natural spirit destroys
We masters of nothing,earth is not one of our simple toys!

Bountiful earth,sate my hunger for your fruits
You- that my brothers enslave,pillage and rape
I pray we return more to our natural roots
And the coming desecrating,final destruction escape
In a new dawn's unification man with Nature agape!

10-31-2015

___________________
October 31, 2015

Combination of - Haiku, Couplet, Free Verse, English Quintain

For the contest, A Poets Dozen (12 lines)
Sponsor, Silent One


Definitions of sate:
verb: fill to satisfaction
Example: "I am sated"

Definitions of agape:
noun: a religious meal shared as a sign of love and fellowship
noun: (Greek) love (especially love that is spiritual and selfless in nature)


Syllables Per Line: 5 7 5 0 15 15 0 15 15 0 10 11 12 15 15
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 15 (Including empty lines)
Copyright © 2015 Robert Lindley

Haiku- first three verses syllable count 5,7,5
Couplet- Next two verses, syllable count 15, 15
Free verse(rare one that rhymes) syllable count 15,15
English Quintain syllable count is 10,11, 12, 15, 15

Note all specifications met and then some!
My grandfather was full-blood Native American so this prayer poem that I composed has validity enough coming from me HIS HANDSOME GRANDSON , IMHO. --Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Old Shoe Box And Broken Candle

My great boldness keeps hammering on down
like blacksmith's hits on anvil it rings.
So loudly, it barks echoes around this town
forwarding slashes giving wicked stings.

My great arrogance so often I can not abide
proudly riding patiently with me daily.
In that awful smugness even I can not hide
covering with soft words spoken gaily.

Silly boldness, are not others far more bold
cried out this man thinking so wise.
Are not others greater in knowledge of old
tis' true cried out this man so wise.

What pray I, do I have so very special now
that truth has found its clear start.
Only my great willingness to find out how
trade old shoe box, broken candle for a heart!

Robert J. Lindley
April 9th, 2004

NOTE- I wrote this poem for my 16 year old daughter K.K. TO TURN IN AND DISCUSS IN A CLASSROOM ASSIGNMENT BACK THEN.
I let her do all the poem analysis and she did a very good job getting most of it correct.