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 Mar 2018
Phil Lindsey
He left the bases loaded
He left a lot of par putts short
He left friends laughing at his tales
Of how he failed at every sport.
He left a girlfriend at the altar
He left an ex-wife home in tears
He left his brother on a barstool,
Paying for his beers.
He left money on the table
He left well enough alone
He left his job before the quitting time
Told his boss, “I’m headed home.”
He left a scrap of paper,
With a short conclusive note
It said, “I think we’ve got it wrong,
But I am just one vote.”
He left some pictures on the table,
Arranged in a collage
He left his pick up running
That night in his garage.
PwL 3/20/2018
 May 2017
Phil Lindsey
Mom, you know I need you
When things get out of hand,
And my day-to-day is stretching like
A frayed old rubber band, and
My patience wears and crumbles,
And I think I’m on the brink, and
It’s time for ‘Hokie Pokie’ on the
Roller skating rink;
Then you tell me,
“Put your whole self in, and
Shake it all about,” and
I can see you smiling, and I can
See you have no doubt that
Life will turn out, somehow, maybe
Not the way I planned, and that
There might just be a bit more stretch
In that frayed old rubber band, but
Even if it snaps, and life breaks loose, and
My skates end pointing toward the sky,
I know you’re there to help me up
And give it one more try.
Mom you know I need you….
Phil Lindsey, May 7, 2017
My Mom's birthday is May 7.  She would have been 85 this year.
 Apr 2017
SøułSurvivør
Recently I had a talk
With the Lord of All
Wish I could say I came away
Feeling ten feet tall
But instead what He said
Made me feel small...

I asked him why my dreams had died
I asked him to convey
Why blows were dealt below the belt
It seems like every DAY
Why my heart was torn apart
Why did I have to pay?

For what others had done to me.
And WHY the cost so DEAR?
When would the war be over?
When would the coast be clear?
Why so many PROBLEMS?
Can't some just disappear?

He said, "You want to know, my child?
Why these knots still bind?"
He was gentle, but yet firm.
He took me back in time.
To the root, where they'd begun
And the causes? MINE.

Are there times you've questioned?
YES! We ALL have done!
We want to shame. We want to blame.
We want to scathe and shun
We want to point the finger
But now, the time's begun

To look through eyes enlightened
To peel the onion. Delve.
TRUTH's not glass, but mirror...

in which we see OURSELVES.



SoulSurvivor
(C) 3/29/2017
I'm going to be doing some self appraisal.
Peeling back the onion. I've got a LOT on my plate right now. This means

*I WILL BE OFF THE INTERNET*

Thanks for understanding.

LOVE YOU!
 Apr 2017
Phil Lindsey
A good poet speaks to a generation.
A great poet’s work echoes loudly through the ages.
The rest of us just talk to ourselves and hope someone is eavesdropping.
Hope nobody from the cell phone company is listening.....
 Feb 2017
nivek
its amazing how far away you can be
from your own self image
 Feb 2017
Phil Lindsey
He spent his lifetime chasing rainbows,
All the colors, bright and bold
But the years of stormy weather,
Left him lonely, gray, and old.
For the sun to make a rainbow,
There first must be some rain,
For the soul to be forgiven,
There first must be some pain.

Judge not the book you haven’t read.
Your conclusion may be wrong.
The bravest of the armies
May not be so very strong,
For when the battlefield is littered
With bloodied bodies of our youth,
There is still a final chapter,
And that chapter holds the truth.

The sun shines bright and warms us,
Then it hides behind dark clouds,
Skies overtly ominous
Suggesting funeral shrouds.
He sees the remnants of a rainbow,
Fleeting, fading fast,
Strains his aged eyes to see it,
And he prays his faith will last.
Phil Lindsey 2/11/17
"I think therefore I am"
but
not this man who I see
whilst having my tea,

the bathroom mirror mimics me
and yet if I don't look
I won't cross the lines that meet
in crows feet.

Head's full of cotton wool today
and as if to say, I told you so,
cotton buds blossom
between each toe.

This cannot be real.

I watch as the faces
congeal and
set into one,
if I am
then it goes on too

Saturday mirrors me blue.

The wake up call
bells ring
rainfall.

It'll clear
and as I peer again
it has.

I still look the same
but different.
 Jan 2017
Kim
Hazy outlines familiar faces
Echoes of familiar places
Captured moments long forgotten
Honesty in words unspoken
A fleeting smile unguarded eyes
Truth beneath the surface lies
Pause a moment the masquerade
Telling postures now displayed
Rueful smiles and tired eyes
A warm glance melts a mask of ice
And as the frame fades away
Smoke and mirrors back into play
I'm quite a fan of candid photography
It is an art that is underrated in my opinion
I have had the privilege of taking some beautiful, albeit inexpert, candid shots of my friends and family from time to time -
And shall continue to do so whenever I have the opportunity!

(Edited "breaks through" to melts - credit to Phil Lindsey for the suggestion)
 Jan 2017
Monica
Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.
It seems the morality of the world has thinned,
and it's hard for me to differentiate
how to be good, and how to be great.

There's so much bad stuff swirling around,
and unfortunately, as I have found,
it's so easy to get swept up by society,
and so easy to be remiss in one's piety.

I long to be a better person.
I don't want to just worsen and worsen.
Can you help me be a saint?
Make me in your image, the way only an artist can paint.

I just need your guidance and your aid,
I need to have more confidence in the me that you made.
Because if I stare really hard right into a mirror,
There's a person I'm becoming, and frankly, I fear her.

Help me to be in the world and not of it.
Help me to embrace my true self and love it.
And in the face of the world's ignorant braying,
help me to just keep on loving and praying.
 Jan 2017
Phil Lindsey
It was a windy, wintery day in spring;
I had on my summer clothes.
Then it started snowing and
My nose, and toes, soon froze.
Why did I not wear a warm, wool coat,
With a scarf, and hat, and such?
I can only say, that on that day,
I wasn’t thinking all that much.
I guess I thought that I was cool,
But what I was, was very cold,
And if my Mom had been around that day,
She’d have said, “Son you’re too old,
To be running ‘round in a short sleeve shirt
On a windy, wintery day.
Son, you’re dressed
Like it is summer, and it isn’t even May.”

But my brain was filled with other things,
Like what to say on my first date,
And how not to get there early,
But make sure I wasn’t late,
How I thought the shirt would
Match my eyes, make me look kinda buff,
And how much cologne I needed,
Was that too much, or not enough?
How to act if her Mom and Dad were there?
Or if we were alone together?,
With all these thoughts inside my head,
I thought naught about the weather.
Still snowing when I went around
A curve a little fast,
I tried in vain to hit the brakes,
But I guess I hit the gas.

The car was stuck, and I was
Late, still had eight blocks to go,
I tried running on the sidewalks,
But now they were covered in snow.
I slipped, then tripped, and landed
In a snowdrift four foot deep,
This can’t be real I reasoned,
I’m in a nightmare. I’m asleep.
But it wasn’t a dream, I was wide awake.
I was shivering; it felt like frostbite.
Surely my dream girl was worth it,
We could still have a wonderful night!
Finally, I climbed the steps to her door,
Rang the bell, and it opened wide.
Her father said, “Son, can I help you?”
You must be freezing, c’mon step inside.”

“YesSssir, I’m hhhhere, to pppickup your daughter,
Cccan you sssee if shshshe’s ready to go?
Thththankyou for letting me in
Sssorry ‘bbbbout all the snow."

“Son, she’s not here, he shook his head slowly,
I’m afraid it would be a long wait.
Not sure when she’s coming home,
She must have forgot she had a date.”

Phil Lindsey 1/12/17
Not exactly, but it could have!!!
 Nov 2016
Phil Lindsey
Behold the artist, blind since birth,
Consider what she paints.
No perception of perfection,
Hence no rules; Hence no restraints.
The colors on her palette
Are hers alone to see;
Created only in her mind,
Her brush will set them free.

Behold the model, sitting naked,
Consider how he feels.
He knows that she can’t see him,
Hence wonders what her gaze reveals.
If silently he moved away,
Would she even know?
Would she continue painting,
Though her model chose to go?

Behold the canvas, total black,
Consider what it means.
Is it art regardless
There are no browns, no blues, no greens?
When the model views the finished portrait,
Does he stand there filled with awe?
For the black, the shapeless splotches
Are what the artist saw.
Pwl 11/28/16
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