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  1. #931
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    Deeper The Well, More Bitter Its Drink Tastes

    Days of youth, with its wanton lusts
    Blind to truth, dark winds came in gusts
    Poison to seize ill gotten gains
    Saddest memories, its remains!

    Treasures remain, foiled by heart's greed
    Greed's sad stain, epic loss decreed
    By black shadows in human souls
    Darken lies, take their heavy tolls!

    Flowers wane, water and sun lost
    Sin's dark bane, sweet fruits, at what costs?
    Stolen goods, youth's untamed ardor
    All changed, life becomes much harder.

    Pleasures sought, with no real concerns
    Blindly bought, pray youth one day learns
    Life punishes hurts thus dark born
    By regretful nights so forlorn.

    Deep the well, bitter its drink tastes
    Black the hell, into which one wastes
    When passion has no ruing guide
    hell's shadows chase, nowhere to hide!

    Hold to Light, that lone dark voice fails
    Keep in sight, all that honor tells
    For sorrows, are regrets oft laid
    By deeds that world demands be made!

    Love's treasures, let passions be true
    Joy's pleasures, are gems that accrue
    From kindness and sweet loving ways
    Are true innocence, when kids play.

    R.J. Lindley,
    Original, December 5th, 1988
    This version edited, today December 16th, 2018
    (Thoughts on youth and mistakes passionately made)

    Syllables Per Line:
    0 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8
    Total # Syllables: 224
    Total # Words: 176


    Note: While looking at older poems to edit and present, I found this one.
    Since in was written in December thirty years ago, I thought it fitting to
    edit it and present here this December. The original had a mixed syllable
    count. I first edited to achieve ten syllables per verse. But, but that
    is when my overbearing and demanding muse stepped in and commanded that
    I try eight syllable verses. Next came a coin toss and the eight verse
    version won. My muse was happy but my poet's soul woefully cries out for
    the abandoned ten syllable version! A man must honor the results of a coin
    toss, methinks. Unless the muse fixed the coin toss too!
    What say ye such thinking??
    Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 03-23-2019 at 04:34 AM.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

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  3. #932
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    Robert J. Lindley,
    Rhyme, ( Western. Tale Of Cowboys, Six-Guns And Boot Hill)

    Note- Original was composed in ten syllable verses back in 1978.
    A couple days ago, I decided to rewrite this tale in twelve syllable
    verses in order to give it more power, color, depth, imagery and
    heart. As well as change the ending.

    When young and composing , I let the wild young cowboy win and get the beautiful gal. But now that I too am an old man, I decided it would be best if the brash and wild young cowboy dies. And and leave as a mystery of which of the other two men live. I was tempted to present both versions separately, but decided perhaps it is best to present just this new one. Let the old dog from the past, just fade into oblivion....
    Shootout, And That Wild Young Cowboy From Laramie

    Her heart said, I want a cowboy from Laramie
    Six-gun shooting hombre to take sweet care of me
    Tender lover succumbing to my feminist wiles
    Begging for more of my sexy beautiful smiles
    A handsome brave soul to protect and deep-love me
    Not monstrous brute to slap around and shove me!

    He said, I want a sexy queen to rely on
    Rest my head on warm breasts, maybe even die on
    Sweet angel that will travel with me to Tucson
    One I can let my tender love cravings loose on
    Faithful dear wife, that will honor and obey me
    With sexual heat, almost enough to slay me!

    Her father said, my daughter is too good for him
    She will not wed that hombre on such foolish whim
    I too am a strong man, that carries fast six-gun
    He will learn a hard lesson before I am done
    I sent a letter telling him he must heed me
    Else he will die, his bullets will never bleed me!

    Her town folk said, her beauty will get him buried
    One can not blame her dad, he is tired and wearied
    That cowboy hails from family in Laramie
    Brave kind that warns, best you make no damn dare of me
    Dad should remind her, best that you take care of me
    Rid yourself of that wild young fool from Laramie!

    Sheriff said, we allow showdowns in Laramie
    Neither cowboy would dare stop or be scared of me
    Come morn, front street will see blood, dying or the dead
    Tragic that gal chose not to leave our town instead
    I will do that which this wild town demands of me
    As long as citizens back, take this stand with me!

    Newspaper read, yesterday our town saw blood-red
    Shootout woke older folks from their early night beds
    In saloon came that young cowboy from Laramie
    Her dad saw and said, he wants a bad share of me
    I guess Fate's death hand will now decide which of we
    Will see new dawn, me or cowboy from Laramie!

    Street was dark as both strolled out into its dim lights
    Many will regret missing bravest fight of fights
    Between old man, brash young cowboy from Laramie
    Both fighters were totally unaware of me
    Now with six guns stood Fate's black-hand upon we three
    For that sweet beauty had once been in love with me!

    I yelled, old man and young lad from Laramie
    Walk away, else both will get wicked share of me
    One could have heard pin drop as they stared at me
    With live or die look, let Fate decide we shall see
    Come morn, cemetery would welcome two of three
    And shot full of holes was cowboy from Laramie!

    Robert J. Lindley, 12-19-2018 (Previous date 1978)
    Rhyme, ( Western, Tale Of Cowboys, Six-Guns And Boot Hill)


    Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2018
    Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 12-21-2018 at 10:21 AM.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

  4. #933
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    First offering of my poet dedication series..

    Upon Dawn's Beautiful Rise, I Was Born, first dedication poem
    .

    Note--
    https://englishhistory.net/byron/
    Lord Byron (1788-1824) – Key Facts, Life & Work Information

    A collection of resources dedicated to the second generation romantic poet, Lord Byron.

    Notices of the Life of Lord Byron by Thomas Moore, 1835

    Lady Byron Vindicated: A History of The Byron Controversy, From Its Beginning in 1816 to the Present Time by Harriet Beecher Stowe, 1870

    Byron: Biography and Chronology

    Byron: Images
    portraits of the poet, his family and friends

    Byron: Selected Poetry

    Byron: Selected Letters
    Byron: Contemporary and Critical Opinion
    Byron on Keats: At the John Keats site

    Byron's lovers: Lady Caroline Lamb
    Byron's wife: Anne Isabella Milbanke currently unavailable; being redesigned and rewritten

    But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
    Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces
    That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think;
    'Tis strange, the shortest letter which man uses
    Instead of speech, may form a lasting link
    Of ages; to what straits old Time reduces
    Frail man, when paper - even a rag like this - ,
    Survives himself, his tomb, and all that's his.
    from Don Juan

    Letters
    Lord Byron to Francis Hodgson, 3 November 1808
    Thomas Moore, Venice, February 2, 1818
    Thomas Moore September 1814
    Lord Byron Letter To Henry Drury Salsette Frigate, 3 May 1810
    Lord Byron Letters To John Murray, Venice, April 6, 1819
    DEDICATED TO BYRON- Double Sonnets--First dedication poem of series
    honoring great poets.



    ******************************************
    I decided to do two sonnets in dedication to my favorite poet, Byron.
    I have since written two poems in dedication to my second favorite poet, Percy Bysshe Shelley.--Tyr


    (Sonnet 1)

    Upon Dawn's Beautiful Rise, I Was Born
    (Sonnet Number One)


    Do not my life's passing cause you to mourn.
    My years flew by as sweet as summer's breeze.
    For at dawn's beautiful rise, I was born
    underneath the tall and ancient oak trees.
    Mother Nature gave me breath, my heartbeat,
    soft like distant thunder in a quiet gale.
    Being blessed with mighty strength and fleet of feet
    I traveled fast past rivers, hill and dale,
    scattering each with magnificent seeds
    helped to and fro by water, hoe, and wind.
    They sprouted even in thickest thorny weeds
    and all the more in verse, I vow to send.

    Do not my life's passing cause you to mourn.
    For at dawn's beautiful rise, I was born.

    Robert J. Lindley, 1-12-2019

    (Sonnet 2)

    She An Angel, Ravenous In My Sight
    (Sonnet Number Two)


    Behold as shining frost on roses bright
    its glint, a gasping pleasure to mine eyes
    she an angel, ravenous in my sight
    tho' her countenance some deny.

    Dear blessing, that her power never dies
    its renewals, this earth needs all the more
    from its width, its canopy of blue skies
    one may seek fortune from its, shore to shore.

    Sweet those deep treasures her heart gives away
    her immense depths we too oft fail to see
    We in blindness let apathy hold sway
    as we pride ourselves, far greater than she.

    Behold as shining frost on roses bright.
    She an angel, ravenous in my sight.

    Robert J. Lindley, 1-12-2019
    Sonnet (Number two)


    Note--
    https://englishhistory.net/byron/
    Lord Byron (1788-1824) – Key Facts, Life & Work Information

    A collection of resources dedicated to the second generation romantic poet, Lord Byron. See more details in notes shown above.

    Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2019
    Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 01-20-2019 at 08:29 AM.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

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  6. #934
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    Second offering of my poet dedication series.


    Young Brilliant Poet That Left Us Far, Far Too Soon Dedication series
    Note:
    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Percy_Bysshe_Shelley
    Percy Bysshe Shelley, Born 4 August 1792
    Horsham, Sussex, England[1]
    Died , 8 July 1822 (aged 29)
    Gulf of La Spezia, Kingdom of Sardinia (now Italy)
    Occupation Poet, dramatist, essayist, novelist
    Alma mater University College, Oxford (no degree)
    Literary movement Romanticism
    Spouse Harriet Westbrook
    (m. 1811; died 1816)
    Mary Shelley
    (m. 1816)
    Signature
    Percy Bysshe Shelley (/b??/
    BISH; 4 August 1792 – 8 July 1822) was one of the
    major English Romantic poets, who is regarded by
    some as among the finer lyric and philosophical
    poets in the English language, and one of the more
    influential. A radical in his poetry as well as
    in his political and social views, Shelley did
    not see fame during his lifetime, but recognition
    of his achievements in poetry grew steadily
    following his death. Shelley was a key member
    of a close circle of visionary poets and writers
    that included Lord Byron, Leigh Hunt, Thomas Love Peacock
    and his own second wife, Mary Shelley, the author
    of Frankenstein.
    Shelley is perhaps best known for classic poems such as
    Ozymandias, Ode to the West Wind, To a Skylark, Music,
    When Soft Voices Die, The Cloud and The Masque of Anarchy.
    His other major works include a groundbreaking verse drama
    The Cenci (1819) and long, visionary, philosophical poems
    such as Queen Mab (later reworked as The Daemon of the World),
    Alastor, The Revolt of Islam, Adonaïs, Prometheus Unbound (1820)
    —widely considered to be his masterpiece—Hellas:
    A Lyrical Drama (1821), and his final, unfinished work,
    The Triumph of Life (1822)

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    First Dedication poem to Shelley

    Young Brilliant Poet That Left Us Far, Far Too Soon
    (Dedication To Percy Bysshe Shelley)


    Treated as rubbish he should walk away
    with such a blinded crowd why would he stay?
    His mind, his pen, both were very gifted
    truth, ink of his verses - souls uplifted.
    With positive results in verse desired,
    in love's beauty, his poetry was fired.
    Should benevolent kindness be punished
    or Heaven's bread be sent to one famished?

    His pen wrote fine lines, splattering it's ink
    to selfish bidding, it refused to sink.
    His heart roared out, "let them wither away"
    their greedy commands I will not obey.
    Poet's soul seeking great and better things
    spreading love, peace, joy as its ardor sings
    Knowing Dark's appetite had ate lost-hearts
    its massive powers torn goodness apart.

    Each morn, he rose to ink out his sworn vow
    gift words, as only a poet knows how.
    With paper and thought, he scribbled true deep
    oft denying his wants or needed sleep.
    Sadness came as others shot their arrows
    those not knowing, God sees wounded sparrows.
    With love and mercy, gives his divine aid
    to those suffering from evil's sharp blade.

    Years piled up, brief decades ate their fill
    his tender heart refused their unjust bill.
    With courage found in a cause that is right
    black ink stained blank pages, morning, noon and night.
    His eyes were tired and too oft his hands cramped
    yet his vow was, not join their selfish camp.
    He saw death, soon as it broke through his shield
    he stood there, refusing to ever yield.

    Treated as rubbish he should walk away
    with such a blinded crowd why would he stay?
    His mind, his pen, both were very gifted
    truth, ink of his verses - souls uplifted.
    With positive results in verse desired,
    in love's beauty, his poetry was fired.
    Should benevolent kindness be punished
    or Heaven's bread be sent to one famished?

    Robert J. Lindley, 1-19-2019
    Rhyme, ( Those That Write To Give To Others )
    Dedicated to the life and poetry of the famous poet
    that died far too young, Percy Bysshe Shelley


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Second dedication poem- to Percy Bysshe Shelley

    Weeping Willows, Thy Tears Wake My Slumber

    Ye graceful angel, thy truer heart speaks
    with Hope's promise of resplendent relief
    in that bounty, deep empathy thus peaks
    to give mercy's gifts in divine belief.
    Rose-red flowers, thy garden in full bloom
    for none other has such soft graceful kiss
    there is love and warmth in thy treasure room
    riaments of gold found within thy sweet bliss.

    Thy forest colors shine, upon each leaf
    as whispering winds seeds recover
    thy hands gift back joy taken by sorrow's thief
    romance gems, Love's return discovery.
    In that dance in romanticism's deep vault
    thy songs and inspiring words give much more
    Love, removing regrets of ones great faults
    jewels cast within heavenly downpour.

    Weeping willow's sorrows having been shed
    sky brightens and gives sight of rainbow hues
    as glad heart heals all, in soul love embeds
    its splendor of life that ever renews.
    Angel, thy pure beauty we now behold
    coupled with allure of thy graceful smile
    dare we in our wildest dreams be so bold
    as to request to hold, thy hand a while.

    Robert J. Lindley, 1-19-2019
    dedicated to Percy Bysshe Shelley


    Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2019
    Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 02-01-2019 at 09:25 PM.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

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  8. #935
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    The complete set of all three poems, honoring Edgar Allan Poe !!!!
    From my ongoing poet dedication series..
    Third poet honored in this series, after 1. Lord Byron, 2. Shelley.. 3. Edgar Allan Poe



    (1)

    *First poem honoring Edgar Allan Poe*

    From That Dark, Dark Abyss, The Long Black Curtain Rises
    (Written for the third poet on the list in my poet dedication series)

    Curtain rises and we see as Raven's prisoner, old Master Poe
    chained to his cell, held captive by Raven's powers to show
    down in that dark realm, where blood, doom and gloom reign
    all is misery, sad loss and never is there anything to gain.
    From its throne, flies the Raven to start its weekly grand treat
    as Raven's prison guards, knock old Master Poe off his feet
    then Raven transform back into the human Ravenking
    with anger and heartless ire, at Master Poe's head flings
    the ruby-red ring that Poe once gave to beautiful Annabel Lee
    and her blood-stained scarf for pitiful cursed Master Poe to see!

    With a wave of his hands, guards then bring in Annabel Lee
    she has been beaten, cut deep and bound so she can not flee
    her beauty yet glows tho' her heart has been sorely battered
    her grace yet lives, tho' her clothes are all torn and tattered.
    One can see sorrows in her eyes as at Master Poe she looks
    for their great romance and its sad tragedy was one for the books
    gasping at his fallen state, she cries out her true and deep love
    it is at that very moment Ravenking gives her a hard shove
    as her frail body hits that hard stone floor with a loud thud
    out pours her screaming moans, along with more red, red blood.99

    Master Poe rises and yet again does as he has been told
    reads aloud verses, that for his great fame, his soul he had sold
    horror's theater now has its usual weekly crowd filtered on in
    from graves they rose, Ravenking rules them too, for their sins.
    Eager for more, they chanted, make Master Poe recite and dance
    verses about his former earthen life and his sad doomed romance
    we never tire of his loud cries, his misery and his aching pains
    for he is no better than we with our own dark, guilty and bloody stains
    Then Master Poe does just as Ravenking with angry voice commands
    for all there are his prisoners and all of this, his hell given lands!

    With tears falling, the prisoner now recites for agonizing hours
    beguiling that hideous crowd with his magnificent poetry showers
    every verse a shining gem and every poem a marvelous creation
    all rendered from greatest talent, of our world's top poet's station.
    Finally taking a breather, Master Poe asks for water to drink
    tho' his old heart was breaking, he needed a short pause to think
    how he could convince Ravenking not to again torture his dear love
    not to beat her and slash her face again with his thorn laced glove
    with all the guile he could muster, he uttered, she is nothing to me
    were it not for her and her love, I would now be long dead and free!

    Hearing such words cried out and with such hard booming contempt
    Ravenking ordered, take her away, from all torture she is now exempt
    turning to Master Poe, he asked, old friend why the change of heart
    have I now broken you and torn your weary and cursed soul apart.
    Shall we test this and find out if this great transformation is true
    remember your solemn oath, your sworn vow, how I cleverly trapped you
    guards bring her back, we shall see if his heart has turned to stone
    she dies, if Poe dares utters a word as I break a few of her bones
    dragging her back, her heavy chains are then quickly stripped away
    nobody heard the prayers that old Master Poe then began to pray.

    O'lord, forgive me my sins and my accursed seeking of glory and fame
    I now know, such was my downfall, as sure as all Poetry knows my name
    yes Lord, your warnings I choose to ignore to gain fame and treasure
    it cost us Love's truth, gave blood, doom and gloom in equal measure.
    I beg you, with your power stop cruel torture, this savage brutal display
    for there is no great price that I will not right happily agree to pay
    and even unto my death if that be your decision and your divine will
    instead of her, let his evil hands my blood, my guts, this night spill
    I beseech you, I pray this great mercy, its honor and saving grace
    from this hideous old demon, remove my Annabel Lee, her every trace!

    Ravenking finally taking notice, hearing old Master Poe's request
    laughed that wicked laugh and shouted out -is that, is it your best
    that you moan and with futility pray when I have you curse bound
    for 'tis I, that gave all the glory and fame your sorry soul ever found.
    Ask, but know this, nobody here ever rules over me the mighty Ravenking
    for here my powers are absolute and here for every crumb all must sing
    here all are condemned and here none may ever leave, all shall remain
    such is punishment for greed, lusts and all glory they sought to gain
    so now that you have had your pitiful little useless human pleas
    you watch, as I break her frail bones by the two's, even by the three's!

    At that moment the curtain slowing moved and then it slowing fell
    a rustle, a low creak as from behind it a demon strolled out to tell
    Act One has now ended, please stay in your seats, soon comes Act Two
    Ravenking has promised, it too will be dark and bloody through and through.
    In keeping with old Master Poe's legendary image we am to please
    so enjoy the show, its horrors and sit back for more at your sweet ease
    for none would dare want to miss the gruesome scenes from the next Act
    as our wicked show has now only just begun and that is a solid gold fact
    Ravenking has brought some friends, fresh from Hades's pits, now unbound
    you will be rewarded by their victims and their new agonizing loud sounds!

    Act Two, waits from an old and very tired poet to write its dark evil verses
    his knowledge of this dark world, just may shed more Light on its many curses
    should his poet pen falter and leave you in state of confusion and suspense
    remember this, Master Poe's curse, the Raven, the Ravenking are only pretence.
    Know Poe's magnificent writings came from genius, inked-sweat from his brow
    tho' we may sincerely try gaining fame, its elusive treasures, so few know how
    yet our famous old Master Poe has his and truly none can ever take that away
    if one reads his fantastic and golden verses, they just may find their own way
    just be careful and never make deals that may the dark Ravenking give control
    over your heart, mind, life and definitely not your Heaven promised mortal soul!

    Robert J. Lindley, 1-22-2019
    Dark Rhyme, (Ninety rhyming verses honoring greatest dark poet, Edgar Allen Poe)
    The third poet honored in my ongoing poet dedication series.

    (2)
    *Second poem honoring Edgar Allan Poe*

    Fate Once Birthed Lovers, Golden True And Dear

    We had raced a good race, with wind cool and fair,
    There were romantic nights steaming hot for a while,
    And golden rays of sunshine danced in your blonde hair,
    you my beautiful angel with your graceful style!

    Lo! Fate once birthed lovers, golden true and dear.
    Alas! Fate's knot was cut, erased all joyous cheer.

    Was as if an invisible clock rang out its tone,
    Its sad chimes echoing through our sweet paradise,
    Dawn burst, I rose and found myself all alone,
    Knowing never could another lover suffice!

    Lo! Fate once birthed lovers, golden true and dear.
    Alas! Fate's knot was cut, erased all joyous cheer

    Months flew by, your vanishing left merciless marks,
    Summer came and went, winter brought even deeper chill,
    What was once our world, turned bitter, darker darks,
    never again would I find such beauty's sweetest thrill!

    Lo! Fate once birthed lovers, golden true and dear.
    Alas! Fate's knot was cut, erased all joyous cheer.

    Robert J. Lindley, 1-01-2019
    Rhyme, ( Love And Fate's Dark Hand )
    Second poem honoring Edgar Allan Poe from my dedication series
    (3)

    *Third poem honoring Edgar Allan Poe

    She Was His Venus, He Was Her Dear Poe

    She was his Venus, he was her dear Poe
    they cried, love between us, away we go.
    She set bright day into its fiery pace
    he gifted wondrous night poetic face
    O'that Fate had not both loves thus betrayed
    with its fickle powers, to death, one laid.

    As too oft, such love is destined its doom
    laying beauty too early in its tomb.
    Spinning world takes notice when records shows
    epic sorrows from dark grievous sent blows
    O'that we with compassion, great pain see
    empathy, not think, better you than me.

    Poe lived on, tho' his dear true love perished
    his genius saved not one he so cherished.
    This sad tale has been written, oft retold
    how love can not be bought, bartered or sold
    in its majestic depths, that flame hot burns
    shaming dark world, as its evil it spurns.

    With pen in hand and his tears falling wet
    her poem penned, so all would not forget
    Annabel, raving beauty his soulmate
    victim of darkness, death and cruelest Fate
    That we may marvel, ponder our own life
    know we each can be cut by Fate's long knife.

    Now history tells us of Poe's great fame
    yet almost as great 'tis Annabel's name
    Poe's last complete poem told of their love
    his inked words gave her glory far above
    this world's sad treasures, its darkest of seeds
    verses that sing, as each weeping heart bleeds.

    Robert J. Lindley, 1-22-2019
    Rhyme, Third poet honored in my ongoing poet Dedication series,
    this one gets three poems instead of just two.
    ******

    Note- Friends, I hope you enjoyed this imaginative and horror laced dark tale.
    Inspired by the famous and magnificent poetry written by Edgar Allen Poe,
    rated third place by me, just barely behind Lord Byron- in 1st place, Percy Bysshe
    Shelley in 2nd place in my own personal top ten best poets that ever inked even a verse.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

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    Fourth poet honored in my ongoing poet dedication series, Samuel Coleridge.


    O' How Long And Well This Night's Dark Shadows Oft Play, Poet Dedication Series


    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samuel_Taylor_Coleridge

    "Coleridge" redirects here. For other uses, see Coleridge (disambiguation).
    This article is about the early 19th-century English poet. For the late
    19th-century British composer, see Samuel Coleridge-Taylor.
    Samuel Taylor Coleridge
    Coleridge in 1795
    Coleridge in 1795
    Born 21 October 1772
    Ottery St Mary, Devon, Great Britain
    Died 25 July 1834 (aged 61)
    Highgate, Middlesex, United Kingdom
    Occupation Poet, critic, philosopher
    Alma mater Jesus College, Cambridge
    Literary movement Romanticism
    Notable works The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, "Kubla Khan", Christabel
    Spouse Sara Fricker
    Children Hartley Coleridge
    Berkeley Coleridge
    Sara Coleridge
    Derwent Coleridge
    Signature
    Samuel Taylor Coleridge (/'ko?l?r?d?/[1]; 21 October 1772 – 25 July 1834)
    was an English poet, literary critic, philosopher and theologian who,
    with his friend William Wordsworth, was a founder of the Romantic Movement
    in England and a member of the Lake Poets. He wrote the poems,
    The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and "Kubla Khan", as well as the major prose
    work Biographia Literaria. His critical work, especially on William Shakespeare,
    was highly influential, and he helped introduce German idealist philosophy
    to English-speaking culture. Coleridge coined many familiar words and phrases,
    including suspension of disbelief. He had a major influence on Ralph Waldo
    Emerson and on American transcendentalism.
    Robert J. Lindley, 1-29-2019
    Rhyme, (Dedication poem to Samuel Taylor Coleridge)
    Fourth poet on my poet dedication list..

    Fourth poet in my ongoing dedication series.
    Note-- In my first poem,
    I am trying to communicate the darkness in this world.
    The immense and magical imagination that Coleridge used
    in his famous poem, Rime Of The Ancient Mariner.
    As in wisdom imparted to this modern world and poetic
    flights taken in dream be one awake or truly asleep.
    Deliver a message in a dream tale..
    Persuade the reader that we poets must write our dreams be
    they of dark or of light and also entertain with our
    poetry. I had planned on when presenting this, including an
    excerpt from The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner to give at
    least part of that to the reader as reference.
    I know its not one hundred percent Coleridge but
    my goal is to write true poetry , not to mimic the great poets
    that I hope to honor in this dedication series.
    In my second poem,
    I am trying to reveal the precious gifts Nature offers and
    how that relief from this dark world is oft a Godsend and
    oft creates memories that last a lifetime. Memory gems one
    can then summon up, in old age, to soothe a lonely heart,
    broken soul or sorrows that come from realizing the end
    is nearer now than ever it was before!

    SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE-- Number One- (INSPIRED BY AND FROM HIS FROST AT MIDNIGHT POEM).

    (1.)

    O' How Long And Well This Night's Dark Shadows Oft Play,
    Poet Dedication Series

    O' how long and well this night's dark shadows oft play
    flickering under illustrious moon, its gifts
    as we wake to watch, bereft of bright sunny day
    walk on Mars, as internal tides create deep shifts,
    to make room for imagination and its leaps
    within our lives and waning hands of Fate and Time
    folding mysteries layers into ashen heaps,
    that flee as first frost, its gleaming sparkles sublime
    to faeries, elves, ancient forests once held
    as kingdoms of gaiety with hordes of golden treasures
    such massive wealth as few men have ever beheld
    nor dreamed of in their wildest lustful pleasures!

    O' how long and well this night's dark shadows oft play.
    As we wake to watch, bereft of bright sunny day.

    Alas! Such can not be taken or brought back for man
    much the pity, as we wake knowing it was real
    as real as our other worldly dreams and life plan
    to walk in our blinded bliss and far more Time steal
    that nirvana, sated in our dark human greed,
    its chasms from which those dancing shadows sprang
    to soothe our human lusts and their enormous need
    to find something, anything great and immensely strange
    from fountains of our darkness that welcome our thought
    of beings with their silver shoes and long flung capes
    laying dark deeper traps, in which we wish to be caught
    bound in chains, with our always so clever escapes!

    O' how long and well this night's dark shadows oft play.
    As we wake to watch, bereft of bright sunny day.

    Robert J. Lindley, 11- 25 -2018
    Rhyme, (Dedication poem to Samuel Taylor Coleridge)
    Fourth poet on my poet dedication list..


    SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE-- Number Two - (Inspired by his, Fear In Solitude, poem)

    (2.)

    A Sweet Fall Visit To A Hidden Paradise

    A quiet and hidden place, it aura soft and true
    A luscious canopy covered by bright morning dew
    Lakeside scenes all about, one can so easily see
    Gentle slopes, its flowing hills, glowing gems too
    Complete with groups of deer munching away
    Nothing to disturb them on this bright Fall day
    Over head a lone eagle soars in bluest of blue skies
    My private sojourn, such warmth my soul never denies.

    Rushing stream, its waters dancing over the rocks
    Reminds me of life and its many hard knocks
    Of the dark times when pain was the savage norm
    Of the trying times when love lost its beautiful form
    A green meadow there, lush and invitingly cool
    Where I to ignore its gifts, I would be a fool
    So gentle do my thoughts come, when resting there
    That peace walks on in and suddenly I have not a care.

    Joyous music dances across its spacious views
    Washing away my hurts, my old lonesome blues
    I thank Mother Nature for blessings she has sent
    Never disappointed with sweet time there so well spent
    Only sadness that comes is when I must say good-byes
    My hiking shoes on, I leave paradise and its beautiful skies
    Tears well up, my heart aches and sometimes even cries
    For leaving brings sorrows, back into dark world with its lies.

    Robert J. Lindley, 1-29-2019
    Rhyme, (Dedication poem to Samuel Taylor Coleridge)
    Fourth poet on my poet dedication list..



    Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2019
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

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    The fifth poet honored in my ongoing poet dedication series.

    Robert J. Lindley, 2-01-2019
    SONNET, ( How a poet writes)
    Honoring John Keats
    , The fifth poet in my dedication series


    Note: From poem titled Flickering As Sparks From Hephaestus's Hammer Blows-- *Hephaestus's hammer*
    Hephaestus - Wikipedia
    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hephaestus
    Hephaestus is the Greek god of blacksmiths, metalworking, carpenters,
    craftsmen, artisans, ... Greece, particularly Athens.
    The cult of Hephaestus was based in Lemnos. Hephaestus' symbols are
    a smith's hammer, anvil, and a pair of tongs.
    Parents‎: ‎Zeus‎ and ‎Hera‎, or Hera alone Roman equivalent‎: ‎Vulcan
    Consort‎: ‎Aphrodite‎, ‎Aglaea Children‎: ‎Thalia‎, ‎Eucleia‎, ‎Eupheme‎, ‎Philophro...
    ‎Hephaestus in popular culture · ‎Aglaea · ‎Thalia (nymph) · ‎Cabeiri


    (1.) Honoring John Keats
    , fifth poet in my dedication series


    Oft From A Distant Echo, It Is Heard

    At the start comes just a solitary word
    oft from a distant echo, it is heard.
    Imagination steps on into high gear
    through deep, overcast clouds all is not clear
    yet as black ink falls onto waiting page
    poetry births wisdom, oft like a sage.

    As word bullets penetrate this dark world
    deep chaos is oft far away hurled.
    The sad sky vanishes into that void
    healing comes to life that Fate has toyed
    and joy brings in its happiest of feasts
    so vanquishing the cruelest of great beasts.

    At the start comes, just a solitary word.
    Oft from a distant echo, it is heard.

    Robert J. Lindley, 1-27-2019
    SONNET, ( How a poet writes)
    Honoring John Keats

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    (2.) Honoring John Keats
    , fifth poet in my dedication series


    Flickering As Sparks From Hephaestus's Hammer Blows

    Rainbow lake, its flashing colors vividly seen
    under adoring sun and at Nature's behest
    majestic beauty to behold none could demean
    compares as, red to the rose at its very best!

    Sandy white beach shores, one gasps in reverent all
    as fluttering willows bend in that graceful way
    greater still multi-colors surrounding in Fall
    Nature's masterpiece gifted, no demands to pay!

    Beneath moonlight and its accompanying glows
    fireflies over waters casting a brilliant sheen
    flickering as sparks from Hephaestus's hammer blows
    splendor far more beautiful than a peacock's preen!

    This treasure, gifted us, by both Nature and God.
    Enjoyed by young poet with pen and fishing rod.

    Robert J. Lindley, 2-01-2019
    SONNET, ( How a poet writes)
    Honoring John Keats

    !. *Hephaestus's hammer*
    Hephaestus - Wikipedia
    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hephaestus
    Hephaestus is the Greek god of blacksmiths, metalworking, carpenters,
    craftsmen, artisans, ... Greece, particularly Athens.
    The cult of Hephaestus was based in Lemnos. Hephaestus' symbols are
    a smith's hammer, anvil, and a pair of tongs.
    Parents?: ?Zeus? and ?Hera?, or Hera alone Roman equivalent?: ?Vulcan
    Consort?: ?Aphrodite?, ?Aglaea Children?: ?Thalia?, ?Eucleia?, ?Eupheme?, ?Philophro...
    ?Hephaestus in popular culture · ?Aglaea · ?Thalia (nymph) · ?Cabeiri

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    (3.) Honoring John Keats
    , fifth poet in my dedication series


    An Old Poet's Saddest Lament

    Never again shall I make art's high mark
    this world shallow, its dooming fall so stark
    could the masses wake to walk in the light
    and with illumination regain sight,
    walk the wise trails of poets that gave their all
    ink splashing about life, love's sweet recalls.

    Alas! That dark shadow grows day by day
    blinding eyes as it dances its harsh way
    into human thought, zeal to attain ease
    expanding darker lusts do as one please,
    waste human brainpower's seed, man's great gifts
    wallow in ignorance, hate what uplifts.

    Never again shall I make art's high mark
    this world shallow, its dooming fall so stark
    could the masses wake to walk in the light
    and with illumination regain sight,
    walk the wise trails of poets that gave their all
    ink splashing about life, love's sweet recalls.

    Robert J. Lindley, 2- 02-2019
    Rhyme, ( On the sad fall of love of literature
    and poetry, from that of a century ago)
    Third poem honoring John Keats..

    Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2019
    Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 02-02-2019 at 10:32 AM.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

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    Emily Dickinson, is the sixth poet honored in my dedication series.-Tyr

    Within Golden Walls, Love's Gardens Await
    Poet's Notes

    Emily Dickinson
    From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia


    Jump to navigationJump to search
    Emily Dickinson
    Photograph of Emily Dickinson, seated, at the age of 16
    Daguerreotype taken at Mount Holyoke, December 1846 or early 1847; the only authenticated portrait of Emily Dickinson after childhood[1]
    Born Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
    December 10, 1830
    Amherst, Massachusetts, US
    Died May 15, 1886 (aged 55)
    Amherst, Massachusetts, US
    Occupation Poet
    Alma mater Mount Holyoke Female Seminary
    Notable works List of Emily Dickinson poems
    Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was an American poet.

    Dickinson was born in Amherst, Massachusetts into a prominent family with strong ties to its community. After studying at the Amherst Academy for seven years in her youth, she briefly attended the Mount Holyoke Female Seminary before returning to her family's house in Amherst.

    Some argue that Dickinson lived much of her life in reclusive isolation. Considered an eccentric by locals, she developed a noted penchant for white clothing and became known for her reluctance to greet guests or, later in life, to even leave her bedroom. Dickinson never married, and most friendships between her and others depended entirely upon correspondence.[2]

    While Dickinson was a prolific private poet, fewer than a dozen of her nearly 1,800 poems were published during her lifetime.[3] The work that was published during her lifetime was usually altered significantly by the publishers to fit the conventional poetic rules of the time. Her poems are unique for the era in which she wrote; they contain short lines, typically lack titles, and often use slant rhyme as well as unconventional capitalization and punctuation.[4] Many of her poems deal with themes of death and immortality, two recurring topics in letters to her friends.

    Although Dickinson's acquaintances were most likely aware of her writing, it was not until after her death in 1886—when Lavinia, Dickinson's younger sister, discovered her cache of poems—that the breadth of her work became apparent to the public. Her first collection of poetry was published in 1890 by personal acquaintances Thomas Wentworth Higginson and Mabel Loomis Todd, though both heavily edited the content. A 1998 New York Times article revealed that of the many edits made to Dickinson's work, the name "Susan" was often deliberately removed. At least 11 of Dickinson's poems were dedicated to sister-in-law Susan Huntington Gilbert Dickinson, though all the dedications were obliterated, presumably by Todd.[5] A complete, and mostly unaltered, collection of her poetry became available for the first time when scholar Thomas H. Johnson published The Poems of Emily Dickinson in 1955.
    (I.)
    Within Golden Walls, Love's Gardens Await

    Ripe are swelled grapes upon glowing vine
    my darling on love's bounty we shall dine
    in our paradise rests more than a dream
    there flows truest joy from Heaven's first stream.

    Within golden walls, love's gardens await
    We should tarry not, best not to tempt Fate.

    Morn's dew adds luster to romantic skins
    my darling, now rest of our lives begins
    in this our joy renews our dearest hope
    that we waited, choosing not to elope.

    Within golden walls, love's gardens await
    We should tarry not, best not to tempt Fate.

    Soon we shall entwine in our bliss, love's bed
    live true our blessing because we have wed
    within God's grace, we will bear ripest fruit
    allow Love and Hope to take deeper root.

    Within golden walls, love's gardens await
    We should tarry not, best not to tempt Fate.

    Robert J. Lindley, 2-10-2019
    Rhyme, ( Golden Bliss Of Love's Luscious Bounty)
    Dedicated to Emily Dickinson

    (II)
    Such Beauty, Could Only Be Divinely Crafted

    Held aloof, her shining gold crown intact
    Her aura casting forth winds that so soothe
    Glory divinely cast, none could retract
    Her song and dance both so pleasantly smooth.
    An angel sent down to earth to relay
    Promised words that broken lives may save
    Nightmares from bleeding from night into day
    As dark, roaming shadows of ashen grey.
    Her smile giving warmth to tormented souls
    She loving all with Love, her gentle touch
    Pure waters poured from angelic bowls
    A soft kiss given to those needing such.

    Held aloof, her shining gold crown intact.
    Glory divinely cast, none could retract.

    Robert J. Lindley, 2-07-2019
    Sonnet, ( Composed as a Emily Dickinson dedication poem)

    (III.)
    As Sad Echoing Moans Fill Empty Halls

    I hold the hurt, embrace its deepest cuts
    to feel even a small part of your love.
    Tho' your love was full of ifs, and's and but's
    I thought you would stay, when push came to shove.

    You gone, I reside in this vacant tomb
    your night's loving no longer keeps me warm.
    You ran away, ending life from your womb
    thus did us both, eternal pain and harm.

    I cry because, this world gives no relief
    as sad echoing moans fill empty halls.
    This nightmare, agony of disbelief
    forever haunts my soul with empty calls!

    With my life now in total disarray.
    For love's return, I now sincerely pray.

    Robert J. Lindley,
    Sonnet, ( Love's Deepest Pain)
    Dedicated to Emily Dickinson

    Part One of three dedicated to Dickinson.



    Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2019
    My most recent addition to my ongoing famous poets dedication series..
    The sixth poet to be honored, Emily Dickinson is now recognized for her magnificent poetry.
    Three poems in Part One, are dedicated to one of the best female poets that ever lived.. -Tyr
    Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 02-20-2019 at 06:39 AM.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

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    Part Two Of, Emily Dickinson, dedication series

    (1.)

    What Started As Bliss Has Brought Death's Black Hand

    As a tree full of crows looked down on my bloody head
    that long dark shadow falling ever so swiftly down
    turned my hope of hope to darkest of dreadful dread
    in my sorrows, love and future dreams soon did drown.

    Alas! What started as bliss has brought death's black hand
    About to die, I had chosen this place to make my stand.

    Days before she had wrote sweet words to hurry to her aid
    her perfumed letter, its scent sent me into passion's glow
    within that waking dream, I knew we both had it made
    little did I know, her sweet caring letter was just for show.

    Alas! What started as bliss has brought death's black hand
    About to die, I had chosen this place to make my stand.

    At her place, I was met by two heavily armed men
    each a dagger and a sword hanging from their belt
    from their hateful looks, I knew they wanted my skin
    and in that thought, I now knew how she must have felt.

    Alas! What started as bliss has brought death's black hand
    About to die, I had chosen this place to make my stand.

    Rushing across the meadow to our favorite oak tree
    I turn to fight my attackers, thinking her life to save
    next I saw her racing to us, she racing to be with me
    she got there, she ordered both men to rush to kill me!

    Alas! What started as bliss has brought death's black hand
    About to die, I had chosen this place to make my stand.

    Then she cursed me for having left her there alone
    a dagger she puled from her long black cloak
    with pure hate in her eyes, her heart turned to stone
    she screamed, when you left my heart you broke!

    Alas! What started as bliss has brought death's black hand
    About to die, I had chosen this place to make my stand.

    The fight ended with both my attackers down and dead
    filled with joy as neither had even gave me a scratch
    I never even saw her as she stabbed back of my head
    I chose her for her fire, thinking O' what a great catch!

    Alas! What started as bliss has brought death's black hand
    About to die, I had chosen this place to make my stand.

    Robert J. Lindley, 1-13-2019
    Rhyme, ( Tale: With Love Destroyed, Betrayal Too Late Seen )
    dedicated to Emily Dickinson, poet dedication series

    (2.)

    Yet Something In The Breeze Tried To Wake Me To See

    Something about the moon was dark and spine chilling
    the night was hot and her beauty had me love feeling
    our tryst was steamy and her passionate favors to die for
    I knew not, she was a temptress for Hades dark shores!

    Her singing had set both my heart and my soul afire
    of being with her, I just knew I would never ever tire
    yet something in the breeze tried to wake me to see
    this evil vixen wanted something most precious to me!

    Waking just before dawn, as light revealed her face
    I saw truth and it was my soul she wanted to replace
    then her eyes opened and her sardonic smile came
    she saying, you are now the prey caught in my game!

    I rose to run away but her claws dug into my legs
    her hideous scream came, kind that makes one beg
    ripping loose, I made my way to the meadow field
    swearing never again to my dark lusts ever yield!

    Falling from my bed, I laugh at what a bad dream
    thinking that nightmare, so very real it had seemed
    then I looked down and saw blood dripping its red
    I felt the gash and knew I was a ghost already dead!

    Robert J. Lindley, 1-24-2019
    Rhyme, ( Was it All Truly Just A Dream)
    Dedicated to Emily Dickinson, poet dedication series


    (3.)

    There's More To The Old Forest Than Its Ancient Trees

    As the years are pealed back, this old heart now truth sees
    there's more to the old forest than its ancient trees
    mystery in places, savagery in its nights
    more than just imagination, it hides from sight!

    Yet such does not negate its most beautiful gifts
    its Autumn colors, songbirds notes that so uplifts
    bounty of its harvests, peace it oft can instill
    calm that one can may find, treasures that oft so thrill.

    Tho' darkness lurks there deep and hides its evil ways
    one can visit its truth, find self most any day
    walk along its well worn trails and about life muse
    all of its many wonders, in this dark world use!

    As the years are pealed back, this old heart now truth sees.
    There's more to the old forest than its ancient trees.

    Robert J. Lindley, 1- 18-2019
    Sonnet, ( Amazing That This Dark World, Has Such Beauty In Its Forests)
    dedicated to Emily Dickinson, in poet dedication series

    (4.)

    From Weeping Tears, No Longer Shall Joy Find In Heart Anything

    Creeping thick fog has dimmed my view of morn's resplendent lake
    so dreary is life's sorrows, more than this sad soul can take
    yet tomorrow promises mysteries that leap from the dark
    tho' my life's worries have wrinkled my skin like Sycamore bark.

    Night shall come, with its agonies crying to be unbound
    as its bellowing howls screech out, horrendous gasping sounds
    very soon midnight moon will swallow up my despondent soul
    spitting it out as fragmented black-stained pieces of the whole!

    God forbid! That from this nightmare I never dare to wake
    to that of Life, dear sweet Love, I never again partake
    and from morbid sunken state, my heart crumble and be no more
    fallen into heaps of crushed bones, spilled blood and ghastly gore!

    Woe! The epic pains such broken-heart images dare'st tonight bring
    From weeping tears, no longer shall joy find in heart anything.

    Robert J. Lindley, 2- 12-2019
    Sonnet, ( The Sad Depths Of Sorrow's Deep Epic Pains)
    dedicated to Emily Dickinson, poets dedication series..

    Syllables Per Line:0 14 14 15 15 0 14 14 15 15 0 14 14 15 15 0 15 15
    Total # Syllables: 204
    Total # Words: 148
    Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 02-23-2019 at 12:07 PM.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

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    Soon to be posted at my home poetry site .....-Tyr

    Mary Elizabeth Frye dedication poem

    (1.)


    Graveyard Visit, Seeing Death's Saddest Truth

    Walking rows of silent tombstones that litter in my head
    I see far more than just faces of buried ancient dead
    I see epic battles some lost and long journeys some made
    I see long lines trekking through hell's gate as if on parade!

    Lo! Great and dooming are the vain vanities of mankind
    Blindness, racing ahead not seen they are falling behind
    Appetites for darkness and immense greed, they think are needs
    They indulge lusts, oft by making innocent humans bleed!

    Alas! Dark lust, evil culprit, deeply woven within
    Tempting powers grown massively by rewards of past sins
    As these ghosts cry out their sorrowful and tragic tales
    I hear in the not too distant background, hell's ringing bells!

    As I bid one and all a merry and thoughtful goodbye
    Into one great crowd they gathered, all with tearful sad eyes!

    Robert J. Lindley, 1-11-2019
    Sonnet, ( Man, As The Sad And Fallen Creature)
    Dedicated to Mary Elizabeth Frye, poet dedication series.


    Syllables Per Line:0 14 14 14 14 0 14 14 14 14 0 14 14 14 14 0 14 14
    Total # Syllables: 196
    Total # #Words: 142

    *************************************************
    Mary Elizabeth Frye dedication poem

    (2.)


    Those Deep Moaning About Life's Many Curses, Its Hardest Hits

    Those that beg for Herculean body and Socratic mind
    I pray reading these verses you think them not too, too unkind
    Nothing bad about imagination and cherished desires
    Such is mighty fuel that kindles ambition's hottest fires!

    Those caring about not being fleet of foot and stout of heart
    Or beautiful in appearance and raving as genius smart
    Fear not, for such gifts of flesh are but foolish fantasy gold
    Too oft disappearing when your human container grows old!

    Those deep moaning about life's many curses, its hardest hits
    Wading in its nasty cesspools, and in its blackest of pits
    Be of good cheer, if your blind soul can accept these wizened words
    Open your eyes, sing about love, stop tramping along in herds.

    So you got cherished Herculean body, Socratic mind
    Have fun stumbling through miserable life while still stone-cold blind!

    Robert J. Lindley, 2-19-2019
    Sonnet in Fifteen, ( Truth About Man As A Fallen creature)
    dedicated to Mary Elizabeth Fyre, poets dedication series.


    Syllables Per Line: 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15
    Total # Syllables: 210
    Total # # Words: 142
    ************************************************** **
    Mary Elizabeth Frye dedication poem

    (3.)

    Do Not My Youthful Life Now Mourn

    Do not my youthful life now mourn
    My lot was set day I was born
    I grew to be a healthy lad
    This evil world turned my soul bad
    Life's prison I walked alone
    My blood dark red, my heart hard stone.

    Yet time came that love cracked my shell
    Freeing me from my living hell
    As Light and Truth fought off the dark
    To please I tried to make my mark
    Alas! She demanded so much more
    Wanting Oceans and all their Shores.

    Soon I saw she was a deep trap
    My weakness her false love did tap
    Her claws razor sharp and dug in
    Her lies told me she was no friend
    I left on a hot July day
    From her darkness, far, far away.

    I lived only a decade more
    Heart healed from jagged hole she tore
    She found me on a cool June morn
    Convinced me, her heart too, was torn
    Passionate love, we made that night
    She killed me before dawn's first light!

    Do not my youthful life now mourn
    My lot was set day I was born
    I grew to be a healthy lad
    This evil world turned my soul bad
    Life's prison I walked alone
    My blood dark red, my heart hard stone.

    Robert J. Lindley, 2-11-2019
    Rhyme, ( Tale Of How Darkness Oft Deceives, Masquerading As Love And Light)
    dedicated to Mary Elizabeth Frye, poets dedication series.

    Syllables Per Line:
    0 8 8 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8 8 8
    Total # Syllables: 240
    Total # Words: 210

    NOTE :
    Mary Elizabeth Frye's most famous poem ( Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep)
    was about Death, Sorrows, Grief, Loneliness- brevity of human life, dark
    in this world. That poem has such an immense depth, level of sadness, truth,
    despair and emotion that rings so true to any reader that has been unfortunate
    enough to have experience any part of the darkness (Fate's awesome power)
    so pervasive in this unforgiving world with its never resting evil and agonizing
    grief/sorrows, such as so oft brought to those yet living.
    Links-
    (1.)
    https://allpoetry.com/Mary-Frye
    (2.)
    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Elizabeth_Frye


    Mary Elizabeth Frye dedication poem

    (4.)


    Sometimes I Can Not Help But To Fall Down And Weep

    Her soul looks down at tombstone standing all alone
    her heart was far bigger than a blue Texas sky
    we had prayed to God, her death he would postpone
    when heaven denied, we dared not to ask why.

    Graveside sometimes, shadow passes at its head
    fleeting glimpse, reminding us our mother is dead
    stopping to pause, to recall her smiling face
    her sparkling brown eyes, kind heart so full of grace.

    Sometimes I can not help but to fall down and weep
    releasing deep pain searing this sorrowing soul
    I know her image will appear in my sleep
    since her death, this sad heart has never been whole!

    Graveside sometimes, shadow passes at its head
    fleeting glimpse, reminding us our mother is dead
    stopping to pause, to recall her smiling face
    her sparkling brown eyes, kind heart so full of grace.

    Robert J. Lindley, 2-24-2019
    Alternating rhyme, repeated stanza,
    ( Now two years and three weeks gone)
    poem dedicated to Mary Elizabeth Frye
    famous poets dedication series

    Poem Syllable Counter Results
    Syllables Per Line:
    0 12 12 11 11 0 12 12 11 11 0 12 12 11 11 0 12 12 11 11
    Total # Syllables: 184
    Total # Words: 142

    ************************************************** ***************************
    Use this for the blog on Frye.....

    http://www.thehypertexts.com/Mary%20...ture%20Bio.htm

    The HyperTexts

    Mary Elizabeth Frye: Poetry, Analysis and Bio

    Mary Elizabeth Frye (1905-2004) was an American poet who remains known today almost exclusively for a single poem―a curtal sonnet of just twelve lines―and yet it just may be the most popular poem in the English language!

    "Do not stand at my grave and weep" is a consoling Holocaust poem and elegy with an interesting genesis, since it was written by a Baltimore housewife who lacked a formal education and had quite possibly never written poetry before, and certainly none of note. When her mysterious sonnet was named Britain's most popular poem in a 1996 poll―despite not having been one of the critics' nominations!―an unlettered orphan girl had seemingly surpassed all England's ivory towerists in the public's estimation. Although the poem's origin was disputed for some time (it had been attributed to Native American and other sources), Frye's authorship was confirmed in 1998 after investigative research by Abigail Van Buren, the newspaper columnist better known as "Dear Abby." The version of the poem below was published by The Times and The Sunday Times in Frye's obituaries on November 5, 2004:

    Do not stand at my grave and weep

    Do not stand at my grave and weep,
    I am not there; I do not sleep.
    I am a thousand winds that blow,
    I am the diamond glints on snow,
    I am the sun on ripened grain,
    I am the gentle autumn rain.
    When you awaken in the morning’s hush
    I am the swift uplifting rush
    Of quiet birds in circling flight.
    I am the soft star-shine at night.
    Do not stand at my grave and cry,
    I am not there; I did not die.

    ANALYSIS. Frye's sonnet is a bit of a rule-breaker! Most English
    sonnets have fourteen lines, but hers has only twelve, making it
    a curtal sonnet. Most English sonnets are written in
    iambic pentameter, with ten syllables per line, but hers is
    written mostly in loose iambic tetrameter, or perhaps irregula
    r meter, with mainly eight syllables per line. Only line seven has
    the traditional ten syllables. Furthermore, Frye's sonnet is
    written in unorthodox rhyming couplets―known as heroic couplets―with
    the rhyme scheme AABBCCDDEEFF. The opening and closing couplets
    consist of imperatives in eight monosyllables, which give them a
    note of authority: DO NOT stand at my GRAVE and WEEP, / I am NOT t
    here; I DO NOT SLEEP / ... DO NOT stand at my GRAVE and CRY,
    / I am NOT there; I DID NOT DIE. The other lines have softer,
    more consoling sounds, with their images of swirling winds,
    glistening snow, ripening grain, gently falling autumn rain,
    birds rising in quiet flight, and stars shining softly at night.
    The poem seems to function in three distinct parts: (1) I am not
    in my grave, so don't weep for me there. (2) Here are the encouraging
    places where you can continue to find me. (3) I reaffirm that I
    am not in my grave, nor am I dead, so don't weep for me there.

    Here is a printable version of the poem: Mary Elizabeth Frye's
    "Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep" which is not copyrighted and
    is thus in the public domain. Frey never copyrighted the poem
    because she believed that it "belonged to the world."

    Facts about the Poem and Mary Elizabeth Frye
    compiled by Michael R. Burch

    An earlier version of the poem, believed to be the original
    or closer to it, appears at the bottom of this page. The poem
    is sometimes referred to as "I Am" because of the repetition
    of the biblical phrase within the poem.

    A 1996, a Bookworm poll resulted in 30,000 "write in" votes for
    the un-nominated poem, making it Great Britain's favorite poem,
    from "out of blue nothing." The poem has been read at funerals
    and other memorial services, including those for the Challenger
    space shuttle, the Lockerbie bombing and the 9-11 terror attack
    on New York's twin towers.

    The poet was born Mary Elizabeth Clark in Dayton, Ohio on
    November 13, 1905. She was orphaned at age three and moved to
    Baltimore when she was twelve. Although she had had no formal
    education, she was an avid reader and possessed a remarkable memory.
    She married Claud Frye in 1927, becoming Mary Elizabeth Frye. He
    ran a clothing business while she kept house and grew and sold flowers.

    Frye wrote the poem in 1932. As far as we know, she had never
    written any poetry before, but the plight of a young German
    Jewish woman, Margaret Schwarzkopf, who was staying with her
    at the time, inspired her. Her young houseguest had been deeply
    concerned about her mother, who was too old and crippled and
    ill to leave Germany, but she was unable to go to her mother's
    aid because of the rabid anti-Semitism that was erupting into
    what later became known as the Holocaust. When she received news
    that her mother had died, the heartbroken young woman told Frye
    in despair that she had never had the chance to “stand by my
    mother’s grave and shed a tear.” Frye found herself composing the
    poem on a ripped-off section of a brown paper shopping bag. She
    said that the words “just came to her” and expressed what she felt
    about life and death. When she showed the poem to her young charge,
    she prized it greatly, saying that she would keep it forever.

    Frye circulated the poem privately. Because she never published or
    copyrighted it, there is no definitive version. Frye continued to
    write, often to support animal charities, but none of her subsequent
    work matched the impact of her first piece. It was her first poem,
    written in a burst of compassion, that endured and became famous.
    The poem was first introduced to many Britons when it was read by
    the father of a young soldier, Stephen Jeffrey Cummins, who had been
    killed by a bomb in Northern Ireland. The soldier's father read the
    poem on BBC radio in 1995 in remembrance of his son, after having
    found it in an envelope addressed "To all my loved ones" in his
    son's personal effects.

    Mary Frye died on September 15, 2004, at age 98. In its obituary
    The Times wrote: "The verse demonstrated a remarkable power to
    soothe loss. It became popular, crossing national boundaries for
    use on bereavement cards and at funerals regardless of race,
    religion or social status."

    There is an illustrated book of the poem with ink drawings for each line.

    To coincide with National Poetry Day 1996, the British favorite book
    program, the BBC's Bookworm, conducted a poll to discover the nation's
    favorite poems and "Do not stand at my grave and weep" was one of
    the most favored poems. As Geoff Stephens explained, "In 1996, BBC TV's
    Bookworm ran a competition to discover the nation's favorite poems,
    which were published in The Nation's Favourite Poems (BBC Worldwide Books,
    1996). Auberon Waugh called it 'the best popular anthology ever printed
    in Britain.' In the book's preface, 'almost apologetically,' editor
    Gryff Rees-Jones states: 'the unexpected poetry success of the year
    from Bookworm's point of view … provoked an extraordinary response …
    the requests started coming in almost immediately and over the following
    weeks the demand rose to a total of some thirty thousand … its origins
    remain a mystery. In some respects it became the nation's favourite poem
    by proxy and, despite it being outside the competition, we have decide
    to include it here, in prime, first past the post, poll position.'"
    The version immediately below was taken from page 62 of a memorial
    service document for the United Spanish War Veterans service held
    at Portland USA, on 11 September 1938 (the '40th Encampment') published
    by the US Congress in early 1939. The text is:

    Do not stand at my grave and weep,
    I am not there—I do not sleep.
    I am the thousand winds that blow,
    I am the diamond glints in snow,
    I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
    I am the gentle autumn rain.
    As you awake with morning's hush
    I am the swift-up-flinging rush
    Of quiet birds in circling flight.
    Do not stand at my grave and cry,
    I am not there—I did not die.

    The text below has been said to be the original version of the poem.
    While it is speculative to suggest that a poem "came from God," the
    Hebrew name for God, YHWH, is believed to mean something like "I am"
    or "I am that I am" ...

    Do not stand at my grave and weep
    I am not there, I do not sleep
    I am in a thousand winds that blow
    I am the softly falling snow
    I am the gentle showers of rain
    I am the fields of ripening grain
    I am in the morning hush
    I am in the graceful rush
    Of beautiful birds in circling flight
    I am the starshine of the night
    I am in the flowers that bloom
    I am in a quiet room
    I am the birds that sing
    I am in each lovely thing
    Do not stand at my grave and cry
    I am not there I do not die

    Frye never copyrighted the poem, which leaves it in the public domain.
    Her explanation: "I thought it belonged to the world; it didn't belong
    to me. I still feel that way … it was written out of love, for comfort.
    If I took money for it, it would lose its value ... maybe I'm a nut."
    Of course the contraction "I'm" is yet another "I am."
    Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 03-02-2019 at 04:33 PM.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

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    This has now been chosen as Poem of the Week at my home poetry site..
    Which is a great honor since the site has added a few thousand poems from all around the world- each and every week!--Tyr



    Emily Dickinson, is the sixth poet honored in my dedication series.-Tyr

    Within Golden Walls, Love's Gardens Await
    Poet's Notes

    Emily Dickinson
    From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia


    Jump to navigationJump to search
    Emily Dickinson
    Photograph of Emily Dickinson, seated, at the age of 16
    Daguerreotype taken at Mount Holyoke, December 1846 or early 1847; the only authenticated portrait of Emily Dickinson after childhood[1]
    Born Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
    December 10, 1830
    Amherst, Massachusetts, US
    Died May 15, 1886 (aged 55)
    Amherst, Massachusetts, US
    Occupation Poet
    Alma mater Mount Holyoke Female Seminary
    Notable works List of Emily Dickinson poems
    Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was an American poet.

    Dickinson was born in Amherst, Massachusetts into a prominent family with strong ties to its community. After studying at the Amherst Academy for seven years in her youth, she briefly attended the Mount Holyoke Female Seminary before returning to her family's house in Amherst.

    Some argue that Dickinson lived much of her life in reclusive isolation. Considered an eccentric by locals, she developed a noted penchant for white clothing and became known for her reluctance to greet guests or, later in life, to even leave her bedroom. Dickinson never married, and most friendships between her and others depended entirely upon correspondence.[2]

    While Dickinson was a prolific private poet, fewer than a dozen of her nearly 1,800 poems were published during her lifetime.[3] The work that was published during her lifetime was usually altered significantly by the publishers to fit the conventional poetic rules of the time. Her poems are unique for the era in which she wrote; they contain short lines, typically lack titles, and often use slant rhyme as well as unconventional capitalization and punctuation.[4] Many of her poems deal with themes of death and immortality, two recurring topics in letters to her friends.

    Although Dickinson's acquaintances were most likely aware of her writing, it was not until after her death in 1886—when Lavinia, Dickinson's younger sister, discovered her cache of poems—that the breadth of her work became apparent to the public. Her first collection of poetry was published in 1890 by personal acquaintances Thomas Wentworth Higginson and Mabel Loomis Todd, though both heavily edited the content. A 1998 New York Times article revealed that of the many edits made to Dickinson's work, the name "Susan" was often deliberately removed. At least 11 of Dickinson's poems were dedicated to sister-in-law Susan Huntington Gilbert Dickinson, though all the dedications were obliterated, presumably by Todd.[5] A complete, and mostly unaltered, collection of her poetry became available for the first time when scholar Thomas H. Johnson published The Poems of Emily Dickinson in 1955.
    (I.)
    Within Golden Walls, Love's Gardens Await

    Ripe are swelled grapes upon glowing vine
    my darling on love's bounty we shall dine
    in our paradise rests more than a dream
    there flows truest joy from Heaven's first stream.

    Within golden walls, love's gardens await
    We should tarry not, best not to tempt Fate.

    Morn's dew adds luster to romantic skins
    my darling, now rest of our lives begins
    in this our joy renews our dearest hope
    that we waited, choosing not to elope.

    Within golden walls, love's gardens await
    We should tarry not, best not to tempt Fate.

    Soon we shall entwine in our bliss, love's bed
    live true our blessing because we have wed
    within God's grace, we will bear ripest fruit
    allow Love and Hope to take deeper root.

    Within golden walls, love's gardens await
    We should tarry not, best not to tempt Fate.

    Robert J. Lindley, 2-10-2019
    Rhyme, ( Golden Bliss Of Love's Luscious Bounty)
    Dedicated to Emily Dickinson

    (II)
    Such Beauty, Could Only Be Divinely Crafted

    Held aloof, her shining gold crown intact
    Her aura casting forth winds that so soothe
    Glory divinely cast, none could retract
    Her song and dance both so pleasantly smooth.
    An angel sent down to earth to relay
    Promised words that broken lives may save
    Nightmares from bleeding from night into day
    As dark, roaming shadows of ashen grey.
    Her smile giving warmth to tormented souls
    She loving all with Love, her gentle touch
    Pure waters poured from angelic bowls
    A soft kiss given to those needing such.

    Held aloof, her shining gold crown intact.
    Glory divinely cast, none could retract.

    Robert J. Lindley, 2-07-2019
    Sonnet, ( Composed as a Emily Dickinson dedication poem)

    (III.)
    As Sad Echoing Moans Fill Empty Halls

    I hold the hurt, embrace its deepest cuts
    to feel even a small part of your love.
    Tho' your love was full of ifs, and's and but's
    I thought you would stay, when push came to shove.

    You gone, I reside in this vacant tomb
    your night's loving no longer keeps me warm.
    You ran away, ending life from your womb
    thus did us both, eternal pain and harm.

    I cry because, this world gives no relief
    as sad echoing moans fill empty halls.
    This nightmare, agony of disbelief
    forever haunts my soul with empty calls!

    With my life now in total disarray.
    For love's return, I now sincerely pray.

    Robert J. Lindley,
    Sonnet, ( Love's Deepest Pain)
    Dedicated to Emily Dickinson

    Part One of three dedicated to Dickinson.


    Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2019
    My most recent addition to my ongoing famous poets dedication series..
    The sixth poet to be honored, Emily Dickinson is now recognized for her magnificent poetry.
    Three poems in Part One, are dedicated to one of the best female poets that ever lived.. -Tyr
    Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 02-24-2019 at 11:49 AM.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

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    Now presented at my home poetry site.
    Part One of Two..--Tyr


    Mary Elizabeth Frye Dedication Poems, Seventh Poet Honored Part One
    Poet's Notes(Hide) (Show)
    Become a Premium Member and post notes and photos about your poem like Robert Lindley.

    NOTE :
    Mary Elizabeth Frye's most famous poem ( Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep)
    was about Death, Sorrows, Grief, Loneliness- brevity of human life, dark
    in this world. That poem has such an immense depth, level of sadness, truth,
    despair and emotion that rings so true to any reader that has been unfortunate
    enough to have experience any part of the darkness (Fate's awesome power)
    so pervasive in this unforgiving world with its never resting evil and agonizing
    grief/sorrows, such as so oft brought to those yet living.
    Links-
    (1.)
    https://allpoetry.com/Mary-Frye
    (2.)
    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Elizabeth_Frye

    Part One of Two

    Mary Elizabeth Frye Dedication Poems, Seventh Poet Honored
    Part One

    (1.)
    Graveyard Visit, Seeing Death's Saddest Truth

    Walking rows of silent tombstones that litter in my head
    I see far more than just faces of buried ancient dead
    I see epic battles some lost and long journeys some made
    I see long lines trekking through hell's gate as if on parade!

    Lo! Great and dooming are the vain vanities of mankind
    Blindness, racing ahead not seen they are falling behind
    Appetites for darkness and immense greed, they think are needs
    They indulge lusts, oft by making innocent humans bleed!

    Alas! Dark lust, evil culprit, deeply woven within
    Tempting powers grown massively by rewards of past sins
    As these ghosts cry out their sorrowful and tragic tales
    I hear in not too distant background, hell's loud ringing bells!

    As I bid one and all a merry and thoughtful goodbye
    Into one great crowd they gathered, all with tearful sad eyes!

    Robert J. Lindley, 1-11-2019
    Sonnet, ( Man, As The Sad And Fallen Creature)
    Dedicated to Mary Elizabeth Frye, poet dedication series.

    Mary Elizabeth Frye dedication poem

    (2.)

    Those Deep Moaning About Life's Many Curses, Its Hardest Hits

    Those that beg for Herculean body and Socratic mind
    I pray reading these verses you think them not too, too unkind
    Nothing bad about imagination and cherished desires
    Such is mighty fuel that kindles ambition's hottest fires!

    Those caring about not being fleet of foot and stout of heart
    Or beautiful in appearance and raving as genius smart
    Fear not, for such gifts of flesh are but foolish fantasy gold
    Too oft disappearing when your human container grows old!

    Those deep moaning about life's many curses, its hardest hits
    Wading in its nasty cesspools, and in its blackest of pits
    Be of good cheer, if your blind soul can accept these wizened words
    Open your eyes, sing about love, stop tramping along in herds.

    So you got cherished Herculean body, Socratic mind
    Have fun stumbling through miserable life while still stone-cold blind!

    Robert J. Lindley, 2-19-2019
    Sonnet in Fifteen, ( Truth About Man As A Fallen creature)
    dedicated to Mary Elizabeth Fyre, poets dedication series.


    Syllables Per Line: 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15
    Total # Syllables: 210
    Total # # Words: 142

    Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2019
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

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    Have you ever had any of your poetry published, brother Tyr?

    I think you should if not.

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    Quote Originally Posted by High_Plains_Drifter View Post
    Have you ever had any of your poetry published, brother Tyr?

    I think you should if not.
    Yes, I have. I gave away to publish 14 poems to Kim Bond, to advance a Christian charity.
    She I believe used all 14 poems I gave her. Below is two link and the names of the book.

    1...
    GET A COPY
    AmazonStores ▾Libraries Download eBook
    ebook
    Published March 24th 2015 by Smashwords Edition
    ISBN139781310313035
    Other Editions
    None found
    All Editions | Add a New Edition | Combine


    2.....************************

    I also many years ago gave away to two different singers lyric poems, that each requested permission to record--but I forget their names.
    And gave to another poem to a famous South African composer to include in his new Opera he was composing.

    Thank you for reading and your kind compliment my friend.
    I've been told that over a hundred times by other poets on my poetry site, many of them with their books already published
    but I never seem to get around to ever selecting and publishing any of my over 2,000 poems.
    I guess my vanity has never rose to that level.. Tyr
    Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 03-02-2019 at 05:02 PM.
    18 U.S. Code § 2381-Treason Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

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    Quote Originally Posted by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot View Post
    Yes, I have. I gave away to publish 14 poems to Kim Bond, to advance a Christian charity.
    She I believe used all 14 poems I gave her. Below is two link and the names of the book.



    I also many years ago gave away to two different singers lyric poems, that each requested permission to record--but I forget their names.
    And gave to another poem to a famous South African composer, Peter Klatzow, to include in his new Opera he was composing.

    1. 2. Thank you for reading and your kind compliment my friend.
    I've been told that over a hundred times by other poets on my poetry site, many of them with their books already published
    but I never seem to get around to ever selecting and publishing any of my over 2,000 poems.
    I guess my vanity has never rose to that level.. Tyr
    I do read your stuff, you're good, bro. I enjoy it.

    I might make an honest entry myself someday. I used to dabble in some poetry way back in the day.
    Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; 03-11-2019 at 02:09 PM.

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