Serianna

Serianna

Stillness surrounds Serianna Bay,
The Village is sad and still,
The people have gone away.

Through open windows cold winds play
Yet, haste betrayed the peoples will,
Stillness surrounds Serianna Bay.

Some of them stopped to pray
To ask for Gods strong will:
The people have gone away.

What did they have to say
As the water began to kill?
Stillness surrounds Serianna Bay.

And now the swollen bay
Is full of souls it made still:
The people have gone away.

Nothing is left but sharks that play
On fodder that washed down the hill:
Stillness surrounds Serianna Bay,
The people have gone away.

R. William Lindsey
1/12/2010

“My Boy Jack”
By Rudyard Kipling

"Have you news of my boy Jack?"
Not this tide.
"When d'you think that he'll come back?"
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.
"Has any one else had word of him?"
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing and this tide.
"Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?"
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he didn't shame his kind
Not even with that wind blowing and that tide.
Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide,
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!

My Empty Bowl Is Filled
- A Triolet




She is my friend this empty bowl
I sip the softness of her tears
and watch her pain then take its toll
she is my friend, this empty bowl
through her eyes there sleeps her soul
that dreams of overcoming fears
she is my friend, this empty bowl
I sip the softness of her tears

I peer within her open gaze
and fill her bowl with just a touch
then feel her knowing through the haze
I peer within her open gaze
the pull on me is not a phase
her bowl is filled but not too much
I peer within her open gaze
And fill her bowl with just a touch

R.William Lindsey
6.8.2010

Convolutions

I walked across
the swirling paths
of lines so mired
in convolutions.

my feet were slipping
I held on fast.
a spinning void
without solutions.

pathways pointed
toward the light.
Is this the end
or a beginning?

the wraps of light
were hot as taffy
pulling me closer
It held me tight

to see the bright
and soundless glow
then saw my life
pass far below.

R. William Lindsey
-10/6/09

A Cup of Breath

“A Cup of Breath”
a Cyhydedd Hir
(Welsh style poem)
by
R. William Lindsey

She sits in my house
light rims her blouse
a frightened brown mouse
runs up her chair
the question so bold
why is it I’m told
those violets are old
stuck in her hair
she slowly looks up
her hands form a cup
as wanting to sup
my anxious breath
I slide to the floor
then float out the door
across fields I soar
in fear of death
but there’s need to cease
my speed to decrease
I see flying Geese
they fly in strings
blue sky they fly through
to a midnight hue
though I always knew
my heart now sings

Pomegranate Roasted Chicken

Pomegranate Roasted Chicken

(Recipe for Divine Inspiration)

Simmer one cup pomegranate juice in a small sauce pan with one half cup Marsala wine
Until reduced to half amount then set aside.
Let a three pound chicken rest until it comes to room temp.
Heat oven to 450 degrees.
Brush on pomegranate/marsala mixture.
Brush on extra-virgin olive oil.
Add a sprinkle of salt and pepper.
Stuff chicken with ten florets of garlic.
Transfer chicken into a large baking dish and roast chicken.
Turn chicken once and continue to roast until golden brown.(about 60 minutes).
Deglaze remaining pomegranate/marsala mixture in saucepan until thick.
Add in one cup chicken stock to mixture and continue to deglaze.
Remove chicken from oven and pour deglazed mixture over entire bird.
Sprinkle with half tablespoon thyme and one half teaspoon rosemary.

Faded Violets

“Faded Violets”
A Terza Rima
(Old Welsh Style)


She sits by an open door,
violets rest on her lap,
remnants from Psalms of the poor.
there on the floor lies a folded map,
showing secrets of the land.
Could this be a subtle trap
that leads us to a pit of sand,
then throw us in the salty brine?
The glowing center of her hand,
soothes the visions in my mind,
her smile is full and so true,
brings music flowing from a band,
with a thousand harps playing through,
an ayre that brings a tear,
I bend down, ‘tis so grand,
the sounds of ‘Foggy Dew’
almost too much to endure,
as thick as the best lamb stew,
to utter a soft and sweet mew.

-R. William Lindsey