Richard Riddle’s birthday today. RIP

In a nation torn with racial strife
where killing seems a way of life
where rappers hold the people’s court
and looting is a favorite sport
where drugs and thugs, both black and white,
govern day and rule the night
seems Superman is fast asleep
as shadows o’er the addicts creep
no soap will wash away the smell
of stories we’re afraid to tell.

Truth isn’t always as it seems
judges judge, the lawyer screams
there are two sides in every fight
yet everybody “knows” what’s right
for the FacebookYouTube miracle
sends evidence empirical
across the globe at speeds of light
while the real truth stays out of sight
oft hidden by grey overcoats
of politicians gathering votes.

Words conveniently disguise
weakness clothed in pompous lies,
historical infirmities,
unsupported generalities,
privileged complicity,
intentional duplicity,
centuries of grief and pain
suffered for another’s gain
twenty score and one year more
pounding at the tiger’s door.

Unjustifiably we cringe
when the door bursts open, rent from hinge
an angry mob spills from the dark
pent-up powder keg; a spark
ignites a nation, blacks and whites
protest filled and anxious nights
sweep our nation shore to shore
conscience values cut to core
Will the bell of freedom ever ring?
“The Voice of the Unheard,” said King

As always, angry mobs subside
rise and fall just like the tide
perhaps will leave a water mark
remembrance of the now cold spark
buildings, broken glass repaired
protesters home their grievance aired
reporters and the camera crews
move on and search for other news
We, silent privileged, sit in chairs
and watch the news with vacant stares.

“The Voice of the Unheard,” said King
will the rest of us learn anything?
will any of us hear, and change?
examine values, rearrange
priorities and constitution
sincerely seek a just solution
go marching forward hand in hand
endeavoring to understand
can centuries of wrong turn right?
and win the war with peaceful might.

Will 2020 be the year that starts the revelation?
Do we have the strength and skill to cure the ill
  which permeates our nation?
Will we ever hear our anthem play
and look around and see
all men, all women standing proud
not compelled to take a knee
if hand on heart we do our part, it cannot be too late
to gather strength together
and make our nation great.

Phil Lindsey 6/10/2020

Sleep, my friend, and dream of youth and glory days,
when the heat of sun in summer burned a hole through clouds and haze,
and we focused on the present, for the past was gone and done,
and we waited, for the balance of our lives had not begun.

Wake, my friend, and see the living all around, for your
family and your friends are most surely gathered ‘round to
hold your hand, and whisper words of hope and faith and prayer, and
know that God is listening, and know that God is there.

Cry, my friend, for tears, like rain, will help to cleanse the soul.
Understand He has a purpose, understand He has a goal,
and even though it isn’t fair, He is with you every hour
so thank Him for your blessings, and rejoice in Heaven’s power.

Sing, my friend, with angels, when the pain of life is gone,
and your family and your friends are left on earth to carry on,
but only for a second, then they will be with you again,
for life on earth is fleeting, eternal life will never end.
Phil Lindsey 8/4/17

There once were some bats in Wohan
Who infected the meat they were on
The Chinese got sick first
But we have suffered the worst
We can’t even shake hands till it’s gone!

Looking out my bedroom window
past the bluebirds and cardinals
vying for position on the seed-filled feeder,
past the doves and the squirrels
shamelessly settling for the leftovers below,
past the obligatory but unused lawn furniture,
past the turtles and storks and herons, and
past an alligator swimming slowly, but purposefully,
toward his place in the sun,
I can see the second green and the third tee
of the golf course where I live.

In these days of pandemic and social distancing
the golfers each drive their own cart.
On the putting green players stand six to ten feet apart,
no one touches the flagstick,
there are no high fives,
no shaking hands.

The green carts are driven
down the cart path
one-by-one
from two green
to three tee,
like four green baby ducks
following each other,
identical, synchronous, six to ten feet apart.

After teeing off
the players in the carts
again follow each other
one-by-one to the end of the path
before scattering
to the fairway or the bunker or the woods
or the edge of the lake
where the alligator has fallen asleep
in the sun with his mouth open
as if he is warning the golfers
to maintain the appropriate social distance.
Considerably more than six to ten feet apart.

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

Thinking of Richard Riddle today on his birthday.  RIP

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

Richard's son posted a note on his FB page letting friends know that Richard passed away, peacefully, in his sleep, of natural causes. Hello Poetry has lost not only a fine poet, but a great individual with his passing. He was always quick with a compliment, and seemed to enjoy life.  As a tribute, you might want to take some time and re-read some of his work.

Rest in Peace, Richard!

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.

Death dressed up for dancing
In a tan sport coat and tie,
Not invited to the wedding, but
It was someone’s time to die.

The bride and groom were beautiful
As brides and grooms would be,
Few knew that she was pregnant,
In several months there would be three.

The best man was a long-time friend
Of both the bride and groom
He was drinking fueled by jealousy
Because their wedding sealed his doom.

Bride’s Mom and Dad, long since divorced,
Said, “Hello”, but didn’t smile.
They both cried as their ‘little girl’
Walked slowly down the aisle.

Groom’s parents laughed and danced and drank,
But both hid things inside
His Dad was filled with cancer, and
His Mom despised the bride.

Grandpa sat in his chair alone,
Except for the oxygen tank
The young pretty much ignored him,
So he just sat and drank.

Bride’s brother disappeared a lot
He insisted he was fine,
Then he snuck off alone again
To do another line.

The wedding party partied hard,
Paid the band for one more set,
All filled with alcohol and lust
How much drunker could they get?

Death walked unseen among the crowd.
He had yet to pick his date,
Lay his hand upon a shoulder
And seal the doomed one’s fate.
Phil Lindsey 3/27/17

Laugh through the tears,
For life is short. Be
Quick to forgive, be
Slow to abort friendships built up
Through the years.
Be quick to forgive, and
Laugh through the tears.

Cry when you must,
For life isn’t fair. Be
Slow to give up, be
Quick to repair broken dreams built up
Through the years,
Cry when you must, but
Laugh through the tears.

Slow down, look around,
Life isn’t a race. Be
The best you can be,
Set your own pace, for life is a journey,
Which spans unknown years,
Slow down, look around, and
Laugh through the tears.

Trust in your faith,
Mortal life has an end. Be
Loving to family, always depend
On your friends; They’ll be with you,
When hope disappears.
Trust in your faith, and
Laugh through the tears.
Phil Lindsey, 3/7/17

The Devil went down to Georgia,
He knew right where he wanted to go,
He’d built a golf course down in Hades, and
He needed a Head Pro.
So he snuck in to Augusta,
Up to the practice tee,
A guy was hittin’ range ***** there
Just as far as you could see.
The Devil said, “Hey Mister,
You want to have a game?
I bet that I can beat you, and
I don’t even know your name.”
The guy said, “My name’s Johnny,
But they call me ‘Long John’
Never met a bet or bottle
That I would back down on.
Guess you could say that some of them
Might have been mistakes,
But, Hell, this life’s for livin’,
So Devil, what’s the stakes?”
The Devil smiled, and said, “Hey, John,
Looks like you’re pretty good,
But that driver you are pounding
Is an old one made of wood,
So if you win, you get this golden driver you can sell,
But if you lose I take your sorry *** straight down to Hell.”

Johnny swing your driver hard,
The Devil’s here in town,
You have a bet you might regret,
But there’s no backin’ down,
If you win, you get a golden driver you can sell,
But if you lose you’re gonna be a golf pro down in Hell!

So they threw a tee up in the air,
It pointed straight at John,
He said, “I guess that means I’m up”,
And the Devil said, “Game on!”
Long John teed his ball up, then asked,
“So, Devil, what’s the game?  
We playing match or medal?
To me it’s all the same.”
By now a crowd had gathered ‘round, and
They all held their breath,
So everyone was quiet when,
The Devil hissed, “Sudden Death;
First one of us to win a hole,
Wins the bet as well,
Better save the ice from your last drink,
Cuz, it’s mighty hot in Hell!”
Long John said, “That’s fine with me,
We got the stakes, we got the bet”,
Then he pulled his driver from the bag, and
Lit a cigarette,
He hit a rocket down the fairway
With a mighty long John swing,
Blew some smoke the Devil’s way,
And said, “Just one more thing,
I’ve won a bunch of money, and I’ve lost a bunch as well,
If I should lose to you today we’ll have a rematch down in Hell.”

Johnny swing your driver hard,
The Devil’s here in town,
You have a bet you might regret,
But there’s no backin’ down,
If you win, you get a golden driver you can sell,
But if you lose you’re gonna be a golf pro down in Hell!

The Devil looked amused and asked,
“Is that all you got?”
Took a six iron from his golf bag
And matched John’s giant shot.
“You have a disadvantage, John,
‘Cuz you play by the rules,
Bettin’ with the Devil
Is a game for mortal fools
I have a few tricks in my bag,
I’ll use’em if need be.
And Long John, on that first par four,
I think we both made three.”
On the next hole, John said, “You go first,
I’m gonna have a smoke”,
Took a bottle from his golf bag,
Mixed a Jack and Coke,
The Devil took his magic six, hit his ball
Right towards a tree; It bounced left,
Skipped across a stream, and
Landed on the green.
Long John watched with interest,
But he didn’t seem concerned,
Said, “If you play with matches,
You’re liable to get burned.”
He hit his old wood driver, 300 yards and watched it role,
Down the fairway, right onto the green, and straight into the hole!

Johnny swing your driver hard,
The Devil’s here in town,
You have a bet you might regret,
But there’s no backin’ down,
If you win, you get a golden driver you can sell,
But if you lose you’re gonna be a golf pro down in Hell!

The Devil handed John the driver,
‘Cuz he knew that he’d been beat,
And John said, “Man I’m hungry,
Let’s grab a bite to eat.
There’s a steak place down the road,
Not too far from here,
You look like you could use a drink,
So I’ll buy you a beer!
You hit that six iron pretty well,
I’ll give you a hand,
But I told you once you *******,
This is Long John Land!”

Johnny swing your driver hard,
The Devil’s here in town,
You have a bet you might regret,
But there’s no backin’ down,
If you win, you get a golden driver you can sell,
But if you lose you’re gonna be a golf pro down in Hell!

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

In 1492,
Columbus had a few
Things to do
Before he sailed the ocean blue.
He needed some green,
If you know what I mean,
So he went to see the King and Queen
Of Portugal, England, and France:
They laughed, shook their heads and said, “No chance.”
While his Homies back in Italy
Said, “Christabo, you gotta be kiddin’ me.
You want to do WHAT!? And you want US to pay?
We think you're a nut, now go on, go away."
But he didn’t give up and he didn’t complain,
He shook it off and took off for Spain
Where Ferdinand and Isabella,
Thinking him a righteous fella,
Told him they would float his boat,
If their country he’d promote,
Plant their flag on lands discovered, and
Bring them riches he uncovered, so
They all signed on the dotted line, and
Columbus said, “The pleasure’s mine!”
Then he smiled and bowed and said, “I’ll see’ya!”
And hopped aboard the Santa Maria.
See Christopher knew the Greek Geeks found,
That instead of flat, the earth was round,
So he thought he knew, or at least he guessed,
That it might be best
To get Far East by sailing west.
He pulled up anchor, set the sail
Told ninety men, success or fail,
West, they’d go, and west they went
Seventy days, provisions spent,
When land was spotted, dead ahead,
Columbus planted the flag and said,
“I claim this land for the King of Spain,
In doing so increase his reign,
And underneath this flag, unfurled,
Declare New Spain, a brand new world!”
What Columbus didn’t anticipate
He was 500 years or so too late,
For Eric the Red, and Leif, his son,
Long ago discovered Newfoundland.
Now when history tells North America’s story,
There’s room for both to share the glory.
But another fact, it’s become quite clear,
There were thousands of people already here,
See life in Asia wasn’t so great,
Some folks decided not to wait,
They just walked across the Bering Strait,
So Chris and Leif both got here late!
Phil Lindsey 1/27/17

Ahh, shady lady says she’s shy
And insecure
As it were,
I say sure,
Sure, she’s a bit demure,
But that’s only part
Of  her
Allure,
I too am shy and raconteur.
Ahh, I always worry
Cuz faces are blurry
I never remember the names;
I hide behind a graffiti covered wall
Standing tall
Feeling small
I guess I’m just part of the games
People play
All day, they
Deep freeze you,
Mess with you, then
Bless You when
You sneeze,
Ahh, get down on your knees
Please, and
Beg for mercy
Beg for pain,
Scarecrow needs a brain,
I’m begging cuz I got nothing to gain
Ahh, let me explain,
Nothing to gain, nothing to lose
Wouldn’t refuse,
A new pair of shoes
Mine are old,
Have a hole in the toe
The laces are broke
And tied in a knot,
What you got,
In your store,
You can give to the poor?
Or for a switch,
You can give to the rich,
Ahh, relax,
They pay the tax,
But, I ain’t no Robin Hood, or
William Tell, whose
Overture to the pits of Hell,
Didn’t sell,
Until he licensed it to the Lone Ranger,
Hi ** Silver, ask a stranger
If it takes a silver bullet,
To **** the wicked witch,
*****,
Lies underneath the house,
Curling toes and ruby slippers,
Dreaming of all the zippers
She unzipped, then walked away,
Ahh, it’s a brand new day.
So if the IRS calls
Tell ‘em I’m dead
Or went to bed
I’ll sleep it off till noon,
Now you got the name of this tune
I’m howlin’ at the moon!
I’m crazy as a loon,
See you soon.
See you soon,
See ya,
Soon,
I’m leavin’ in a hot air balloon,
Ahh, there’s no place like home.
Or Rome,
If you get the chance
To dance,
With the Pope,
Or if you want to see the lions
In the Coliseum,
You can see’em,
Having lunch,
Captain Crunch,
The Tin Man needs a heart,
Tear me up,
Tear me apart,
Ahh, you were all there,
You, and You, and You,
For certain,
You were all behind the curtain,
Ahh, MGM,
And the lion roars,
The End
Phil Lindsey 1/13/17

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

Today’s leaders are busy
turning yesterday’s dreams
into tomorrow’s history.
Phil Lindsey 1/12/17

Garage: A keeper and protector of things past and present. A time capsule for future generations.

Rows of expired license plates, tacked to the wall as a memorial to cars long since traded in.

Matching bicycles, hanging on hooks from the ceiling, together
have less total miles than last year’s Boston Marathon runner-up.

The obligatory 4 x 8 sheet of pegboard, with brackets for tools bought just to fill up the space. Only a few, borrowed by neighbors years ago, are missing.

A lawn mower, and a half-full, red gas can, tucked neatly in the corner.

Brown five-gallon plastic buckets, filled with rock salt, oil dry, golf *****, and the remnants of a spilled bag of bird seed.

Garbage cans, resting up for the weekly trip to the end of the drive. One is for recycling.

A snow shovel, a *****, and a ***, guard the front corner in back of the garbage cans. The garden was at the first house.

A plastic Wal-Mart storage cabinet, locked shut by spider webs and two old spare tires stacked in front of it.

On the bottom shelf, should anyone care to look, are a number of one-gallon paint cans, left by the previous owner, twelve years ago. The brushes, rigor mortis having set in to the bristles, are hanging on the 4 x 8 sheet of pegboard.

Martin:
Stuff on the walls
Stuff on the floor
Hanging from rafters
No room for more

Kim:
Children's playthings long forgotten
Planks of wood almost rotten
Not a car in sight nor much light
It's a dank dark memory dungeon!

Thomas P. Owens, Sr.:
The old Dodge Dart there
long in need of a ******
back and forth to the A&P;
once a week by my Granny

Is there a poem in a sidewalk?
Paths of cratered concrete, cracked
By morning frost and midnight freeze,
Wimpy weeds grow through the fissures.
Children fall and skin their knees.

Is there a poem in a sidewalk?
Canvas for a budding Rembrandt,
Using colored chalk as paint,
Drawing flow’rs, and stick-man family,
Curbing not her young restraint.

Is there a poem in a sidewalk?
Adults dare not let loose the leash,
As they exercise their dogs, and ease their own stress,
Must carry bags and tiny shovels,
To clear the concrete of the mess.

Is there a poem in a sidewalk?
Scooters, skateboards, wagons, bikes,
Off the path, then on again
While yielding the right-of-way
To lovers walking hand in hand.

Is there a poem in a sidewalk?
Collecting children at the corner,
A guard, with yellow vest and sign,
Moses parts the sea of traffic,
Cautiously keeps kids in line.

Through front yards, across drive-ways,
Toward bus stops, stores and schools,
Gathering mown grass, autumn leaves, and winter snow.
There are poems in small town sidewalks,
Imagination on the go.
Phil Lindsey 1/11/17

They walked into the crowded room;
Spotlight hot; it made them sweat,
The crowd was cautious, curious,
Yet they had no regret.
For they were open, honest,
Wore their feelings on their sleeve,
And while the world was watching,
Professed what they believe.

We are equal. We are worthy,
Of your tolerance and love,
There is but One should judge us,
They are in Heaven, up above.
Should a God that loves us equally,
Be considered gender queer?
Can future generations
Be rid of prejudice and fear?

We only ask you give us,
A chance, an equal shot.
You will find that we will give you
Everything we’ve got.
We will make a difference in this world,
We will find our place among the rest
Some strive for mediocrity,
We will strive to be the best!
Phil Lindsey 1/9/17

In the blink of an eye of a hurricane,
In the nick of time after time,
In the heat of the night of the living dead,
It is I for whom the bells chime.

In the midnight hour of decision,
In the moonlit sky filled with stars,
I am cut with a scalpel’s precision,
My blood flows, but soon will be scars.

My only friends will betray me,
My own words have a venomous taste,
I can spit at those who would slay me,
For I’ve outrun all the demons I chased.

In the blink of an eye of a needle,
In the nick of time running out,
Perhaps one more time I can wheedle,
The voices within me to shout.
Phil Lindsey 1/8/17

Cobblestone streets in the middle of a city,
Testament to a generation past.
In addition to the fact that they are quaint and they are pretty,
Its amazing to us now, how long they last!
Phil Lindsey 1/8/17

I dream not of immortality,
But of being less insignificant than some,
Not of being loved by all,
But of being liked by those I’ve met,
Not of changing the world,
But of leaving it unchanged for the better.
For there are many who will have the world changed,
For better or for worse,
Or for no reason at all.

As a king builds a temple in his own honor,
So does a dog establish dominion by peeing on a tree;
The next king builds a larger temple, and
The next dog pees higher on the tree.
It takes only a war, or a rainstorm, or the simple passing of time
To shift the balance of power, for
There will always be another king,
There will always be another dog,
And there will always be another rainstorm.

A baby cries for attention.
He cries, “I am hungry,” or
“I am tired,” or
“I have peed myself.”
And because he is helpless,
We feed him, and we hold him, and we change his diaper.
A poet also cries for attention.
But unlike the baby, his cries are often ignored,
For we do not understand what it is that he wants.

I dream not of a perfect world,
But of a world where there is more good than evil,
More peace than war,
And more joy than tears.
A world where kings build temples for babies,
Where forests and trees are abundant,
And where poets rejoice because their cries are understood.
I dream not of immortality,
But of being less insignificant than some.
Phil Lindsey 1/5/17

Our family had an old blue bus,
It pretty much held the whole of us,
Mom and Dad, six kids and Gyp,
(Out pug dog went with us on many a trip.)
We all thought it was pretty cool,
Back before the seatbelt rule,
To sit on the engine between the front seats.
A blanket on top helped absorb all the heat.
In the wintertime though, we thought it was nice,
When our fingers and toes were frozen like ice,
To warm up on the engine of the old blue bus
Just Mom and Dad and the rest of us.

We went on more family trips than most
Dad drove that blue bus from coast to coast
Kids will be kids, and boys would be boys
Dad got annoyed when we made too much noise.
“Do you want me to stop this ****** bus?”
That scared us to silence, calmed down the fuss.
On the longest trips with lots of kids,
Mom took Mason jars with tightly ******* on lids.
Sometimes Dad would drive through the night,
We’d wake up at morning light
Never knowing quite where we would be,
Carlsbad Caverns? Washington, DC?
At the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown,
At the Grand Canyon, South Rim, looking down.
In New York City, a little lost,
Finding out what slots in Las Vegas cost,
A coal mine in Kentucky, Disney World for some of us,
You’d never know where we might go in the old blue mini-bus.

Sometimes on the weekends, Dad tied canoes on top,
We’d put them in the river, and he’d tell Mom where to stop,
Most times she would be there, but one time she went too far,
Since those were the days before cell phones,
We were up the river without a car!
There were ball games in Chicago, ERNIE BANKS was in our bus!!
He didn’t show up in the picture, but you could see the rest of us.
Lake Bloominton, Clinton, and Mackinaw,
Oh the things that blue bus saw!
Boys Scouts, Cub Scouts, birthday trips with friends
Eventually the bus wore down, but the memory never ends.
I suppose somebody bought it – that old blue mini-bus,
But they never had as good of time as Mom and Dad and us!.
Phil Lindsey 12/30/16

I know that I can be a poet. Yes, I know it. Yes I can.
I know that I can do it. I’ll get to it. I’ve a plan.
Mr. Billy Collins says you have to read a lot.
Ten thousand hours maybe more, maybe more, but
Maybe not.
That may seem,
A bit extreme,
Then again,
He’s probably right.
So I’ll start my “Poet Reading Time’ right away tonight.

If I cut out TV, and read, say three
Or four hours every day,
Five or six days a week, I guess,
Fifty weeks a year, I’d say.
I can figure it out,
I guess it’s about,
It’s about, it’s about, oh dear,
That’s over ten years to get started
That’s not what I wanted to hear.

There’s got to be another way,
I say, that way, takes way too long,
Did Dylan read ten thousand hours
Before he wrote all his songs?
Did Whitman read ten thousand hours
Before he wrote  ‘Leaves of Grass’?
Did Shakespeare? Well, I’ll never know, and
There’s no one I can ask.

Maybe I can take a night class,
At a College somewhere near,
The kind where after class you
Meet the teacher for a beer.
And he tells you how he wrote
A book of poems about his life,
And how he’d have had it published
If it wasn’t for his wife
See she wanted to get married
And she got pregnant right away
So he had to get a job, you know,
What else is there to say?

Or maybe there’s a contest
Which is only for beginners
A prize book will be published
Including all the winners,
And for fifty or a hundred bucks
You get a copy you can keep,
Put it on your nightstand, and
Read yourself to sleep.
Read all the other “winners”,
Who bought a slot upon your shelf,
What does it say about your poem?
What does it say about yourself?

I guess
I best
Start reading.
I’ve lost hours as we speak,
Maybe I,
Can try,
To write a poem every week.
Read, then write,
Enjoy, then fight
With words upon blank page,
Tear it up,
Then, start again,
A lion king inside a cage.
Reading, writing, ‘rithmetic
Add the hours up.
Maybe by the end of life
I might have read enough,
Maybe too, I’ll write a poem, that
Maybe some will read.  
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe not,
Does a poet pricked not bleed?
Success, I guess,
Depends upon
The goal one sets in life.
To earn a million dollars,
To marry a wonderful wife,
To write a novel poem,
Or a novel, or
A song,
That starts the world singing
Join my chorus, sing along!

So Mr. Billy Collins,
I just bought a book,
A collection of your poems,
I just thought I’d take a look,
And before I laid it down to dream,
I must have read an hour or so
A wonderful start, it was, I thought,
Ninety nine hundred ninety-nine hours to go!
Phil Lindsey 12/30/16

The words rush toward the reader,
Slapping her with an emotion, a thought, or feeling,
Before retreating, and leaving only a trace of that emotion,
As a retreating ocean leaves a foamy marker at the high point of its surge,
The foam disappears in time, or is replaced with the marker from the next surge.

The rhythm of this repetition,
Endless and varied as the tide, in and out, and in,
Customized at creation, powered by the gravity of the moon,
Refusing to be understood, though countless men and poets have
Devoted countless years and hours to doing so, still the mystery remains.

The mystery of life, and love, and emotion and poetry cannot be solved,
And that is the beauty of the world! A discovery produces still
Another mystery, as a line in a poem produces still
Another feeling, or a thought, or an emotion,
Understood by no one, interpreted by all.

Men will continue to live and love, solve mysteries and write poetry,
As each mystery is solved, a poet will add another line
To his interpretation of life, leaving the reader
With traces of an emotion, or a feeling,
Which, in time, will also be replaced!
Phil Lindsey 12/28/16

Oh, to sleep the sleep of youth;
Peaceful dreams, and blissful truth
When every morning brings the sun,
Battles fought, and victories won!
Victory sweet, misfortune ****,
Yet those that bear a champion’s heart
Stand upright, tall, despite the end,
And humbly shake opponent's hand
Congratulations on fine play
To meet, compete another day
Hope the foe will others tell,
“He fought with honor, he played well.”

Oh, how the aging fight with sleep;
Nightmares, abject fears run deep
That life on earth is almost done,
Morning might not bring the sun.
Once strong, the warrior now is frail
In the final battle death prevails,
Though none but God has kept the score
The champion longs for one quest more
Long life results in necessity
To replace lost skills with strategy
We long to hear, at final bell,
“He fought with honor, he played well.”
PWL 12/25/16

It’s Grandma’s first Christmas,
And she’s pretty gung-**.
She’s made mental lists,
Now she’s ready to go!

It’s Grandma’s first Christmas,
And she’s going wild.
Nothing’s too good
For the perfect Grandchild!

It’s Grandma’s first Christmas,
And she’s going insane.
We just follow along,
Daring not to complain.

Shop after shop, and
Aisle after aisle,
Wherever she goes,
The shop owners smile.

Store after store, and
Mall after mall,
The SUV is filled up,
But she’s not done, at all.

Her credit card company
Called the last store.
She said, “Just raise my limit,
I’ve got quite a bit more.”

In one store, and out yet another
With clerks dutifully trailing behind,
“Ma’am, is there anything else that you need?
Anything we can help you to find?”

It was Grandma’s first Christmas
She went kind of berserk.
Who knew that shopping
Could be such hard work?

Now Grandma and Baby
Are both fast asleep.
Their first Christmas will end,
But all the memories will keep.
pwl 12/22/16

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

An infant, eyes wide open, stares into the world and sees nothing. An adult narrows his vision and sees what he wants. An old man closes his eyes and sees everything.
Phil Lindsey, August 10, 2016

When the smoke alarms are beeping,
And it’s almost three AM,
And the batteries you need are at the store.
And the toilet’s overflowing
And you’re forty minutes late,
And you’re thinkin’, “Man
There must be something more.”

When the kids ask you for money,
And you could use some money too,
And the car could use a brand new set of brakes.
And the washer isn’t working,
And the dryer doesn’t dry
And you’re thinkin’, “Man,
There must be some mistake.”

When the rain just keeps on coming,
And you’ve stepped into the mud,
And spilled coffee on your brand new set of clothes.
And you’re not ready for the morning,
And the kids just missed the bus,
And you’re thinkin’, “Man,
I wonder if it shows?”

But when you know that you can’t take it,
And you’re throwin’ in the towel,
And you’re thinkin’ that you should run far away.
You look up and there’s a rainbow, and
You see your baby smile, and
You know that you can take it,
One more day!
Phil Lindsey 8/9/16

He climbs the steps slowly,
For he’s an old man.
There’s a bench at the top of the hill.
He sits, and he rests, and he listens,
But for the birds, the air is quite still.
He searches for life on the hillside,
The pheasant and foxes are gone,
But it’s springtime, and flowers are blooming,
And the deer, and the squirrels, carry on.

He closes his eyes,
Reminiscing,
When they lay on the grass by the tree.
A butterfly floats past her tombstone,
It’s not the living he came here to see.
There’s a bittersweet patch on the hillside
And he makes a bouquet for her grave.
He places it softly beside her,
Then descends, with barely a wave.

There’s a lifetime of love
In his actions,
Now, eternity calls out his name
Their earth-life together was Heaven,
Without her it isn’t the same.
So mourn not for the departed,
Save your prayers for those living alone.
Request that God grant them safe journey,
On their trip, up the hill, to His home.
Phil Lindsey, August 7, 2016

Dad looked up and stared at me; His blue eyes aging, but still clear.
“Reflection, Son. Reflection. It’s like I’m looking in a mirror.
When I look at you, I see myself, about twenty years ago.
I’m on the final laps of life, you have a few to go.
We don’t communicate so well; It’s hard to tell you how I feel,
But now I’m feeling pretty scared, and I sure hope that Heaven’s real.
I made a list of things I learned; I hope you understand,
If I had done a better job, I’d have been a better man.”

“Go 60, don’t go 80. You’ll still get there way too soon.
Turn the TV off at night, watch the clouds drift past the moon.
Tell your wife and kids you love them; Use every chance to hug them tight.
And listen to the crickets and the tree frogs sing at night.
Life is like a movie; There’s a large supporting cast,
Surround yourself with love and friendship, they’re the only things that last.
Don’t be too ******* others; And give yourself a break,
Maybe, Son, it’s not too late to learn from my mistakes.”

“The doctor thinks the cancer’s back, and there’s nothing he can do.
I guess I understand it, after what I put my body through.
Your Mother and I discussed the end – one of us would be the first.
I can’t bear to talk about it, but watching her die was the worst.
She was a special woman; Now she’s waiting up above.
At least I hope that she is waiting, I know I’ve been hard to love.
I’d much rather she was sitting here, my ashes blowing to the wind.
But if there’s a silver lining, it’s that I’ll be with her again.”

“You kids are what we’ve left this world. You are our legacy.
I hope you got the best of her, and not so much of me.
Look at me as if you see your own reflection in a mirror.
Heed the ever-present warning, ‘Things may be closer than they appear.’
I’m tired, and old. I’ve made mistakes, but I worked hard, and did my best.
When God gives me a final score, I hope the good outweighs the rest.
Reflection, Sons, and Daughter. Reflection is the key.
God give you strength and courage to change - based on what you see.”
PwL 5/18/16

When all else fails, and you’re forced to run,
Stop, turn around, start shoot’n with a gun
Laugh a little louder, have a little fun,
Walk into the web that the **** spider spun.

In the midst of laugh’n, cry outloud awhile,
Then try to dry your eyes and fake it with a smile
Hide your hard-earned happiness with a grain of guile,
And join the judge and jury in attendance at your trial.

As they announce the verdict, stand there ill at ease,
Pretend you’re in a Catholic Church and get down on your knees
Be it bread and water, or be it wine and cheese
You’re sweatin’ and it’s hot as Hell; the party goers freeze.

Life can be so easy, but we make it awful hard
It’s a game of inches; sometimes we miss it by a yard,
Play another hand of poker, and get the lucky card
Or find the buried treasure in your own back yard.
Phil Lindsey 5/5/16

I once had a dream,
Turned into a nightmare
Thought I was livin’,
Found out I had died.
Heard all of the jokes,
But I just kept laughin’,
Told a couple myself,
And somebody cried.

World keeps on turnin’,
We keep getting’ older,
Mirrors and reflections,
Are foggy today.
All of our children
Are livin’ their own lives,
Sendin’ us emails,
“Hope you’re doin’ OK.”

I know that they mean well,
I did much the same,
Life’s movin’ faster
It’s a young person’s game.
Pushing the edges, and
Paintin’ new pictures
No room for old folks,
Nobody’s to blame.

Friend me on Facebook,
Post pictures of grandkids
I’ll know what you’re doing,
I’ll know where you are.
Enjoy all the hours
You have with your children
Your chips earned as parents
Only get you so far.
PwL 4/15/06

Flying used to be a treat,
Fighting over the window seat,
Peanuts, (free) and lunch at noon
The next flight couldn’t come too soon.

Now, it’s quite the opposite
It seems no matter where I sit
The person sitting next to me
Carried four bags on (so they were free.)

And now we go through TSA
(Where half full water gets thrown away)
Hurry, get in line, and wait
Incoming plane is running late.

Finally, boarded, seatbelt on,
We know it’s time the plane is gone
But on the tarmac we still sit
We think a flight attendant quit.

The pilot says, “We’re next in line.”
“I’ll do my best to make up time.”
And try he does, but it’s too late,
The connecting flight has left the gate.

“I’m sorry, Sir”, they say with guile
They don’t even try to smile
If on time you must arrive,
You’d better rent a car and drive.
PwL  3/31/16

All at once the music stopped;
The calliope stopped spinning.
Atop the stallions we held hands
Convinced that we were winning –
For we were in the prime of life,
We held the golden ring,
Though the music stopped, we knew
Forever we would sing.

All at once the music stopped;
The Ferris wheel stopped turning.
Atop the city looking down,
We saw that lights were burning –
For we were in the evening and,
Our lives had passed midway,
And when the music stopped we knew
That we had had our day.

All at once the music stopped;
The carnival had ended.
And we held each other tightly,
As if our lives could be suspended –
For without the music and the lights,
Past and Present blended,
Our future was but memories
That we had resurrected.

All at once the music stopped;
The night was deathly still.
Alone, and scared I trembled,
Without a prayer, without a will–
For my life had been a carnival,
With my lover at my side,
But all alone, without my lover
I knew that I had also died.
Phil Lindsey  3/29/16

In the End, the Faithful were rewarded,
But there were just a few.
In the End, most screamed with terror,
As the guilty always do.
In the End, there was a final vote,
And we thought consensus ruled,
But in the End, the voting over,
We discovered we were fooled.

In the End, we ran for shelter,
There was none there to be found;
All the Faithful had secured it;
For they were Heaven-bound.
As the flames lept all around us,
We begged forgiveness from our Lord
In a Hell of our own makng,
With riches saved we can’t afford.

For the riches we were chasing,
Stole the goodness from our soul.
All the gold and all the silver
Melted into worthless coal,
And I stood and watched with sadness
Knowing I had had my chance
As the flames lept all around me,
Hell’s eternal damning dance.
PwL  3/19/16

I was hungry. Starving, actually.
I spied an apple in an apple tree,
It looked so very good to me,
Though it was high as it could be.
So I took a ladder to the tree,
And climbed it, oh, so carefully,
And when I was close as close could be,
I reached out, but it was plain to see,
That a worm got there ahead of me!

But I used to hear my Granny say,
"An apple a day keeps the doctor away."
So I climbed down, and what can I say,
I ate the apple anyway!

PwL  3/13/16

Pressed between the pages
Of a novel never read,
Were some faded flow’rs picked in the spring
When love was at its head.  Saved
To capture memories,
(Like the flowers, faded now,)
And yet I smell the springtime,
And I feel the warmth somehow.
For first loves live eternal,
And though faded, stay quite real
Months and years and decades
Are time enough to heal.

The tears that fell upon our cheeks,
Like the flowers now are dry,
Now the sun is shining brightly
In a clear blue springtime sky,
New lovers pick new flowers
And store them fast away,
Pressed between the pages,
To remind them of the day,
When love was more than memory
Like the lovers, life was young
And the days were all in front of them
Their song yet to be sung,
pwl 3/9/16

Could be hangin’ ‘round a church,
Although it’s sin, it’s not embarrassed, it is
Red and it’s a rule.  We all use them everyday;
Doesn’t have to be in school.
It is most important, but it’s just a
Number
Afterall.
Let me know your answer, with a message.  Not a call.
pwl 1/9/16

Is it true that opposites attract?
She liked fantasy, he liked fact,
She liked green beans, he liked peas,
She liked chicken, he liked cheese,
She liked champagne, he liked port,
She liked lazy, he liked sport.
She liked new cars, he liked wrecks,
She liked cuddling, he liked ***,
She liked cookies, he liked cake,
She liked real and he liked fake.
She liked daytime, he liked night,
She liked to make up, he liked to fight.
She liked sweaters, he liked coats,
She liked airplanes, he liked boats,
She liked poetry, he liked prose,
She liked tulips, but he gave her a rose.
She said, “Stay.”, and he said, “Go.”
He proposed and she said, “NO!"
He left with dignity still in tact -
So much for opposites attract!
Phil Lindsey 1/7/16

Thank You, Lord for family,
Friends and neighbors near and far.
Please bless them, Lord, and keep them safe,
No matter where they are.

Thank You, Lord, for every day
That we can breathe, and smile.
Help us to live each moment;
To make each hour and day worthwhile.

Help us maintain our modesty
Should we be wont to boast.
Help us share the gift of laughter,
With those who need it most.

Give us knowledge, strength and courage
To choose the right from wrong.
And help us use our voices
To sing Your praises loud and long.

Last, bless our tiny neighborhood,
And help us understand,
That we, are all Your children,
Held in Your protective hands.
Amen
Phil Lindsey 12/25/2015

I did not know that poetry has rules.
‘Tis not a craft for ordinary fools.
Those, that form and meter never master,
Are ever doomed; they are the poetasters.
As opera singers, out of tune, do make
Discerning listeners do a double-take,
And chefs, who sprinkle salt instead of sweet,
Serve meals that connoisseurs would never eat;
A writer with a wretched poet’s curse
Will never craft a great Heroic Verse.

So as I count my syllables and feet,
And wonder if my metaphors will meet,
I pray that hypermetrics are okay,
(For I have used a few of them today,)
I’ll leave the verdict, reader, up to you,
Affirm that to my mission, I’ve been true,
Or if the ending to my verse bathetic
Christen me a poet most pathetic.
Heroic Lines in Couplets, I intended;
Judge me, reader, now this verse has ended.

Phil Lindsey 12/24/15

With Lackey and Heyward both turning blue
The Chicago Cubs scored a mighty big coup
Kind of a payback for Brock, comma Lou?
What, oh what are the Cardinals to do?

We’re pretty sad, say the fans dressed in red,
That both of those guys chose Chicago instead
But a person would have to be daft in the head
To give up the St. Louis Cardinals for dead.

Yes, the Cubbies think that they have enough
But the whole NL Central is pretty **** tough,
Which team do you think will have the right stuff?
To win in September, when winning gets rough?

2016 will be pretty fun.
There’s quite a Division race to be run
When game 162 is finished and done
We will see which team, the most games, has won.

Yes, next year the race will be closely contended
During the season you might have me un-friended
But in winter time, our rivalry suspended
We can cheer for the Bears till their season is ended.
Phil Lindsey 12/12/15

Oh how, in o’er two thousand years, has evil won the day?
How many generations passed that never learned to pray?
Is the patience of a vengeful God strained beyond repair?
No! His mercy and forgiveness remain gifts for all to share.

The miracle that we are here, that we can feel pain,
Is at once a curse and blessing; Is at once a drought and rain.
For in the driest desert, a cactus can survive,
And good fortune and abundance cannot keep the dead alive.

Can all opposing armies have a unifying goal?
Is there a cause so righteous that all men would give their soul
To live and breathe together, to work and play as one,
To lay down arms and all join hands ‘til our days on earth are done?

Those that gather gold have seen the devil in disguise,
For no amount of gold can gain them Heaven’s paradise.
Then ‘tis Paradise we strive for? Peace for all eternity?
Our goal then to discover, where hides Heaven’s key?

A peaceful, loving life on earth, will unlock Heaven’s gate,
Do good unto all others, share your joys and bury hate.
Do not judge thy neighbor, for his suffering you can’t know,
Listen, hear his story, be his friend and not his foe.

Then when this life is over, and the judgment time has come
Be sure that you have sinned, but that those sins are overcome
By the faith that God is present, He forgives our doubt and sin,
Opens up the gate to Heaven, and will gladly let us in.
Phil Lindsey 11/22/15

I heard a scream from the laundry room,
A shout, “Come QUICK! And bring the BROOM!”
Ran down the hall, and through the door,
“There it is!  THERE, on the floor!”
I looked down at the clay brown tile,
That’s when I saw the gecko smile.
He looked at me.  Looked in my eyes
As if to say, “Are you surprised?”
“It’s warm in here when the dryer runs
I’m just sleepin’ in the morning sun,
Wouldn’t hurt a fly (maybe that’s not true,)
But I promise, Sir, I won’t hurt you.”

Its skin was tan, like its tile bed,
“But, It’s so small,” I turned and said,
“I don’t care.  It’s in my HOUSE!
Remember when you trapped that mouse?
So here’s what I want you to do
Go buy a gecko trap or two,
And get that monster out of here,
I’m not coming back till the coast is clear.”
And she turned around and walked away
Guess I had my orders for the day.
There’s a gecko in the laundry room
And I’m standing there with a worthless broom.

The gecko stared, I stared right back,
I was making plans for a sneak attack
When all at once the gecko took a leap onto my shirt
“Sir, give up now, I beg of you, before one of us gets hurt.
Tell your wife I ran away; I think she’ll understand.
After all I’m just a gecko and you’re a big strong man.”
He jumped onto a dark green towel, then to my surprise,
He turned green and disappeared, before my very eyes!
That little guy was really quick,
And the camouflage thing was a **** good trick,
But I knew he wasn’t really gone,
I had a job to do, so the war was on.

I closed the door and chased that guy, for an hour, ‘round the room
I’d get close and swing at him with my gecko huntin’ broom
He’d stretch, and yawn, and leap away, turning colors all the while,
“Come on Sir, try harder,” he said with his ever-present smile.
I moved the washer and the dryer, the laundry basket, AND the clothes,
All the time he’s laughing, as my frustration grows.
“Excuse me, Sir, “ he said, I’m getting bored with ‘Hide and Seek’
There’s a window, over there, think I’ll just go and take a peek,
You turn around, and close your eyes and count from one to ten,
I’ll find another place to hide and we can start the game again.”
So I turned around began to count, “One, and two, and three,”
No tiny little gecko can make a fool of me.

I knew the window was cracked open, I would sweep him right outside
Then I wouldn’t care at all where the gecko chose to hide.
As I counted four, I turned around (I didn’t wait for ten)
I thought I’d get the drop on him, but I had to think again.
The gecko, on the outside, gave me a little wave
“I know what you were going to do – Sir, that wasn’t very brave.”
I saw at once what he had done,
Now there were THREE instead of one.
“Sir, I was getting tired, so I called a couple of my friends
I told them you were fun to play with, but I guess it all depends,
On whether you keep playing, or let us stay the night.
We promise when your wife comes back we’ll all stay out of sight.

I turned and wandered down the hall, and told my wife with pride,
“It’s finished, over, job well done, the gecko is outside!”
“Thank you dear,” she said and turned to Oprah on TV.
But wait, I thought, (though not out loud) till you find the other three.
Phil Lindsey 11/17/15

In an interview, the President maintained,
“What is true … we have ISIS contained.”
He went on at great length,
Said, “They are not gaining in strength."
Which leaves the terror in France unexplained.
Phil Lindsey 11/13/15

The trees are standing naked
In the cold and wind and rain
The leaves, now burnt and brown and crisp
Are on the ground again
The cold rain drowns the fallen leaves
A soggy carpet stays
And darkness fills the afternoon,
Of the shortened autumn days.

The geese are almost all gone south
The rivers start to freeze
The first few winter snowflakes
Are blown by biting breeze
Frost carpets frozen morning grass
Piers from the lakes removed
Children walk to school in
Coats and scarves -  all “Mom approved.”

The witches and the pumpkins
Left from Halloween
And the turkeys from Thanksgiving
Morph into Manger scenes
Stores advertise the Holidays
Special sales for One and All
As just before the winter comes
The Other Face of Fall.
Phil Lindsey 11/9/15