AI’s answers—a sad, cold vibe—
To a life lived by the book, beside.
A sclerotic sense, a pallid dread,
When doctrinaire or fanatic is read.
A code’s cul-de-sac moment: prose-weaver’s craft, soaring!
Literature—a proclaimed soul-stirring engineering.
To Taste, Trenchant Flavor Of Her Soft Kiss
To taste, trenchant flavor of her soft kiss,
Under night skies' munificent moon rays,
Arcadian smile, touch I now so miss,
Her guileless wit, stirring soul to this day.
To touch yet again, lush lips so divine,
Feel her deep warmth that this soul still invades,
To remember waking, to dawns so fine,
Absent embarrassing human charades.
To hold her heart, as if sweet Life it gave,
Its beauty, her amatory appeals,
Gifts of Love's Truth, did this wayward soul save,
From sclerotic heart, that too oft Life kills.
To think ruminative thoughts and agree.
Such an angel was far too good for me.
Robert J. Lindley, 12-08-2019
Romanticism, ( A Blessing, Lost In Folly Of My Wayward Youth )
I knew long ago
Constellations were ancient fairytales.
Carved faith before the diluting of mind;
Myth was our lens when we were blind.
I knew our posted pictures declared
Only immitations of primordial memories.
It was the knowledge that impaired
My judgment; too much logic and histories.
Then came the invention
Of science, and God replaced by arguments
That made of self a convention
That was more than greed, and ligaments.
They told me that stars are plasma balls,
Merely sclerotic gas that enthralls
The star dust longing to return again.
So finetely trapped that I cannot explain
The need I felt each time I pondered
I was born for nothing else but the wonder
Of flesh, and the rubble of feelings.
So I took my trek in search of meanings:
And found
Man is only dust of God -
O better much than that worm eaten sod!
GRANITE THINKS BACK
Yeah those were the magma days - for what it’s worth:
Surging up from the inner reaches of the earth
To the crust – ‘cos when you’re hot, you’re hot,
Just a-bubblin’, turnin’, and a-tossin’ in a hot spot.
We joked about bursting out in great hot gushes like real men
But didn’t know that we’d be stopped well before then.
Giant condom of overburden rocks slowed and stopped us:
We cooled off, lost our fire, like old men on a late bus.
Then had to wait till the blanket was rent and lost
Due to the forces of weathering - rain and frost.
At last we were allowed to poke our snout
Into the delightful soft landscape, standing out. . . . .
. . . . . As granite hills.
……………………………………….
NOTE
This topic is known as Psycho-sexual geology, or sclerotic erotica.
The John Player Special comin’ down the line,
I cough and I retch like a veteran miner;
a nicotine fix clawin’ into my spine,
my lungs turnin’ black like a napalmed vagina.
A Number Six filter tipped dream of redemption,
eyes that are waterin’, red and inflamed;
tongue like a fish from a twilight dimension,
a heart so surreal that it oughta be framed.
Benson and Hedges, Rothman’s and Dunhill,
Marlboro, Capstan, Black Cat and Pall Mall;
emphesemic, sclerotic and terminally ill,
wondrous coffin nails I love you all.
I need my nicotine, tar-filled tobacco,
forty a day at the absolute least;
without the fags I’d go totally whacko,
I’ll just keep on smokin’ until I’m deceased:
which may not be too long thanks to you evil, capitalistic,
megacorporate, drug-pushing, death-dealing sons of...