Linda's Literary Home

Category: Original Poems

Between Us Is a Whirlwind
Image: William Blake’s The Lord Answering Job out of the Whirlwind

Between Us Is a Whirlwind

What I owe you I must pay.
The love that tried its young shoots
Between our concrete hearts
Will try again in a distant life
Far from the rough clods we used to be.

Between us is a whirlwind —
We have no fairies to blame.
We feed our fires with our own fantasies.
I have seen the lighted match in your eyes.

You have seen my hand tremble on the doorknob.
We have spoken of the storm that topples empires.
Nobody claims losses such as ours
As we walk away from the heart of our heat.

Between us is a whirlwind —
The gyres are wont to play love our graves.
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February 6, 2026
Love: Two Views
Image: Vincent van Gogh’s The Prayer before the Meal

Love: Two Views

I.

Love dropped me naked in the middle of this riddle
And when like a fat tick, I fell from the hound of life,
My bloodless mother and soulless father
Became statues in the hall of questions.

Love dropped me naked in the heat of possession
And when like a ripe melon I grew a belly
and rounded the cape of womanhood,
My gutless husband became a mindless boil
On the ass of marriage.

Love dropped me naked in a wax of indifference
And when like a sculptor I shaped my opinion,
Rage convinced my heart
To feed upon itself in a birdless cage.

II.

Love leads my hand through pages of lore
Where ageless wisdom plants seeds of knowledge.
I pluck weeds of doubt by the light of Thy smile:
I water tender shoots of Truth with the rain of Thy care.

Love tilts my head to look to the stars
Where eternity plays its game of light and dark.
I feed on echoes
That remind me that I am a soul—timeless, deathless.

Love tempts my heart with the passion of passions
Where blood is quickened by divine ardor.
I sing only to glorify Thine image
To magnify Thine image Thou hast fashioned in me.
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February 6, 2026
The Gift
Image: Bert Richardson, circa 1960, Elkorn Lakes

The Gift

after the gift of our friendship
when I am alone to see myself for what I am,
how slow was my awakening –Malcolm M. Sedam, “Poem to My Father”

So I finally came to know that failing to be grateful for the gift our fathers give us, we fail to live.

In Memoriam: Bert Richardson
January 12, 1913 – August 5, 2000

Each human heart beats for love
In the ever-new-time-place of Now—
My father gave his heart’s love
And I began to search God’s gifts
For I was slow to awaken to giving.

Passing this world off to offspring
Takes a fearless, mature being.
Pain endures in sorrow’s valley
Where age eludes wisdom
Where each brush with pride

Engraves a puffed up chest.
Waiting to hear the footsteps
He followed to the river of doubt
To the sea that forced its silence
On the day that bore me,

I had only tears to purify my past—
God bestows the gift on beings
Who erect monuments to love’s legacy
To keep the child’s growth fixed
For eternity and focused on nobility.
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February 6, 2026
Original Poems
Image: The Old Homestead by Ron W. G.
The image is a painting by my sweet husband, Ron, who relied on a photo taken by my sister, Carlene Craig, who still lives there. The old homestead is the place where I grew up—a place of beauty that holds many memories of a young girl growing up in the turbulent times of the 50s and 60s.

Welcome to My Original Poems

My literary focus remains primarily on poetry and songwriting, but as a life-long creative writer, I have also dabbled in many other forms: short stories, flash fiction, memoir.

I also compose literary and expository essays, focusing on a variety of topics including history and politics—even some science/medical issues, especially those that remain controversial.

To sample some of my songs, please visit my “Original Songs.” I also create vegetarian/vegan recipes.

This room in my literary home provides links to my original poems.

Literary art—somewhat like science—is never truly settled or complete; thus I will be continuing to add—and even to revise— material from time to time.

Questions, comments, and suggestions offered in good faith are always welcome.

Swearing to the Orphic Oath

As a poet, I take the art of poetry very seriously and thus I swear to the following oath:

As I, Linda Sue Grimes, engage in my career as a poet, I solemnly swear to remain faithful to the tenets of the following covenant to the best of my ability:
1. I will respect and study the significant artistic achievements of those poets who precede me, and I will humbly share my knowledge with those who seek my advice. I will dedicate myself to my craft using all my talent while avoiding those two evils of (1) effusiveness of self-indulgence and (2) pontification on degradation and nihilism.
2. I will remember that there is a science to poetry as well as an art, and that spirituality, peace, and love always eclipse metaphors and similes. I will not bring shame to my art by pretending to knowledge I do not have, and I will not cut off the legs of colleagues that I may appear taller.
3. I will respect readers and ever be aware that not all readers are as well-versed in literary matters as I am. I will not take advantage of their ignorance by writing nonsense and then pretending it is the reader’s fault for not understanding my disingenuity. Regardless of the level of fame and fortune I reach, I will remain humble and grateful, not arrogant nor condescending.
4. I will remember that poetry requires revision and close attention; it does not just pour out of me onto the page, as if opening a vein and letting it drip. Writing poetry requires thinking as well as feeling.
5. I will continue to educate myself in areas other than poetry so that I may know a fair amount about history, geography, science, math, philosophy, foreign language, religion, economics, sociology, politics, and other fields of endeavor that result in bodies of knowledge.
6. I will remember that I am no better than prose writers, songwriters, musicians, or politicians; all human beings deserve respect as well as scrutiny as they perform their unique duties, whether artist or artisan.
7. I will not rewrite English translations of those who have already successfully translated and pretend that I too am a translator. I will not translate any poem that I cannot read and comprehend in the original.
Original Poems
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February 6, 2026