Best Tarrying Poems
When Autumn veils my season's smile
and lingers in the air a while . . .
though Indian days be gold spun,
my summering will come undone.
Night's shadows fall more quickly now;
birds sooner too forsake their bough.
No tarrying for old friend Sun
when summering becomes undone.
Oh, warmth of Summer, leave me not.
Through Winter's frost I grow distraught.
The melancholy has begun;
my summering will come undone.
As Autumn veils my season's smile,
my summering will come undone.
Categories:
tarrying, autumn,
Form:
Kyrielle
"I love the silent hour of night,/ For blissful dreams may then arise,
Revealing to my charmed sight / What may not bless my waking eyes." from first verse of Anne Brontë's "Night"
tarrying in lilac dreams
I flower in full sunlight
where I flirt with butterflies
and gleefully kiss tulips
when lilac dreams wilt away
I sojourn nearby a sea
caressed by its rippling tides
under a lavender sky
the twilight turns into night
bathing me in the splendor
of a full blue-white hued moon
and myriad stars’ sparkle
deep violet melts away
I drift again into dawn
wishing that I could linger
ever in sweet lilac dreams
Categories:
tarrying, dream,
Form:
Jueju
TO A POETIC TIME LAPSE
As the sharp rays
of sunlight slowly sliced
through the tarrying tinted clouds,
I wiped away the web
of darkness of night;
broke off a piece of time
and used it to scrape away
the corrosion of agony
from the heart of my mind...
and resuscitated my eroded faith.
Today I will open
dusty luggage of creativity
and pull out wrinkled war worn words:
etch ebony emotions of long lived life
onto refined pulp of trees;
weave soul stirring songs;
mould scented flowers
of peace and love; justice...
feel the breath of God
warming my serene sweet soul
while feathering the nest
of my pregnant poetic mind.
Categories:
tarrying, allegory, emotions, simile, word
Form:
Free verse
For you and only you, my love, I’ll wait.
I’ll wait through evening’s dusk to early dawn.
On corners or at stations; by my gate
I’ve waited - and at night with curtains drawn.
The hands of time keep moving, stroke by stroke.
My calendar I’ve marked and then remarked.
What muse of tempering may I invoke
to cool these everlasting flames you’ve sparked?
Please come to me, unholy knight of love!
I cling to threadbare promises you made.
My tarrying I've grown so weary of
while off again you go on some crusade.
Fine gallant you are not, but - oh, perverse!
A heart grown fonder lingering is my curse.
(What I should have written to an old crush of mine
whose modern day crusades consumed his life!)
Categories:
tarrying, love,
Form:
Sonnet
Son,
these words of my heart
will neither come out of pity
nor will go down the wind
nor, again, will build any city.
But lend me your ears, baby,
and listen to what an old man
can say despite the rods of men.
Live up to your own ambitions.
Keep your heart alive
and your mind working
with honor and passion.
Take this over from my heart
that has suffered for so long.
Son,
There is always a good thing
to think of and to do
instead of fruitless tarrying.
Let not the cold world
affect you and do its worst.
there is always something
good to be done against it.
Son,
be careful of those people
who call themselves your friends,
your enemies are known.
They both have not become
what they have become
only because the mind, without
the heart, sees differences
and builds on them obstacles
to divide rather than unite.
They used, it is gone now, to be
your friends and the circle
the circle is open and far from full.
Son,
When the light and the sun rays
are leaving, remember to perceive
the natural attitude and substance
of daffodils and innocent flowers.
Hide your tears, baby, from men
and let them fall alone to freshen
the sight of your eyes and vision.
Open your inward eyes of Earth and Eden.
Son,
Be always on the move
and fear not the elements
of submission and contrition.
The light is coming in
and love is all around you.
Fear them no more.
Bring yourself to accept
your destiny and look at
the horizons of your heart
to improve your tools
and feel the power of patience
and reap the harvest of resistance.
So much depends on them,
so much depends on you.
Have time to work, son,
and have time to play.
Seek to be simple
and look up at
the sunny sphere
without a pair of glasses
Your eyes are for Earth and Eden
Keep them pure and undefeated.
But see !!
When the rain comes
as it will in autumn and spring,
summer and winter, son,
don't rush to get an umbrella
and cover your head like many
of them would do and would not.
You already have more than it
your smile can make it
and the flowers around you
will make it and come along
to live with you and teach you
how to be yourself and be
one sunny day, to your sons
and daughters, little son,
the father my father
has never been for me.
Chokri Omri
" L'amour a besoin des yeux, comme la pensée a besoin de la mémoire. "
Categories:
tarrying, childhood, heart, light, autumn,
Form:
Ode
Moon so high, awake and beaming in white
Soft cloud smiles, watching the moonlight dancing
Behind the furs, hiding as crystal kite
Bounds in miles, prancing with stars so pleasing.
Winds so cold, peeking on wonders of light
Stars on hold, freezing with yonders of oak
Air so bold, giggling at blunders of might
Quasars unfold, circling defying-cloak.
Tarrying night lights over winds of song
Energies regained by lunar mission
Stellars and Mother light spanning so long
Clouds under sheer lights, imploring fusion.
Fueling man's vision, entities horn
Power of illusion, beauties reborn.
Categories:
tarrying, beauty, creation, heaven,
Form:
Sonnet
Saturated with fish fry smells, Bar-B-Cue smoke,
rodeo dust and sounds of deep water blues,
with teasing frothing lace spread on the shore,
Gulf Coast birth breeze blew winds
in sails to Caribbean Sea, Blue Mountain
berries, banana walk yam hills,
And coconut rain drops tapping reggae beats
on zinc roof tops on cool verandah nights,
in herb scented air, curling roast breadfruit smoke.
The tarrying there tested the soul,
matured the spirit, fulfilled long tried
attainments of deferred dreams; then
the sea recruited its journeyman again.
Pacific Coast pleaded an adopted native son home. Home
to new sea shore sands dusted in smog self negation
of urbane destruction and self nullification of community,
caught in the veiled nightmare—lurking in the promise land.
Hence, lessons learned from a gospel tower that never knew a church,
yet gave life-lived sermons that put homiletics to shame, crucifying
pipe-dream pie-in-the-sky nuances on the crosses of realities.
Atlantic waves, undulating like rhythmic buttocks, frothed
a scent of magnetism greater than the tightening hold of gravity,
attracting an uneasy soul, searching spiritual solaced sands; only
to discover that the seas all share the same shored design: Yes.
Same shared sorrowful savage slave story! Different sea: same sand.
Now awaits Guinea Coast sunsets and Cape of Good Hope
cul-de-sac early morning sunrises; then on to the sands of heaven.
Regrets are for those who fail to chase their dreams to realities.
Categories:
tarrying, analogy, imagery, journey, metaphor,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Anemone, they say you are wild!
They are fond of tarrying in the shore
They forget how in faith and pride
You cancel what is less to that of more.
Anemone, come and talk to this child
He is sad and tired of their peace and war.
Come and bring every flower: wild and mild
Soften their hearts and for life open the floor.
Chokri Omri
Categories:
tarrying, nature,
Form:
Ode
It begins at home
even closer: it begins "I"nside
I have forgiven failures, failing in faith, inside me
Have you? Until you do, it is almost too hard
To forgive your imperfect parent, and therefore Father-in-Heaven
Lest it seems, I speak ordinary, old, old-fashioned sermon or speech
"Remember Mandela, South Africa, TRC? I was there!"
While billions only speak it, I have to live it
I did not want to; Mandela (OUR BELOVED MADIBA) made it policy
In the bad old South Africa, poisoned by a white Minority, 300 years
Still wanting NOT to share anything today; but we must for ourselves
And for Jesus (or for Mandela, or for Gandhi: both graced South Africa)
Yes, I have grown to love Forgiveness and Reconciliation in my heart
There it must begin, or it cannot come out into this bloody world
From the blood pump inside you, pure Jesus lineage can overflow
Once the mind and heart come into agreement, concord, one accord
(That's what happened at the Pentecost that birthed Christ's Church -
When the disciples, dreading death after Jesus's Crucifixion, locked doors
In the Upper Room, in Jerusalem, tarrying still: Fire in Holy Spirit fell!)
The Holy Spirit tells me to love like Jesus and Mother Theresa (now Saint)
Love till it hurts (and once hurt like that, NOTHING will ever hurt you & me)
I forgive because I see the forgiveness of Jesus (What does it mean? Sins?)
LOVE may begin in sin; but it flies with eagle wings, near the SON, forgiven
We reconcile with the Parent Above; who is really everywhere, doctrines do
not tell us all, only a start: God loved and offered reconciliation, but Truth
Demands we confess: I was a dirty, dastardly sinner, until He washed me
In the pure, precious blood of a Perfect Man, High-Priest after Melchizadek
So, dear brother and sister, I do not list sins to make you mad
That is only to assure YOU the Jesus way: Confess, Receive Grace, Live Free
TRC in RSA: TRUTH and Reconciliation (& Commission Under Archbishop Tutu)
Said anyone, white or black, who confessed their murders and sins
Would not be taken to court; only one was (Wouter Basson)
A whole nation forgave the white Minority under Mandela's mighty mandate
To Love and forgive like Jesus, for BIGGER things: like saving a country
From the kind of civil wars that rage on and on, fed by hate, all about US
Categories:
tarrying, africa, appreciation, forgiveness, hero,
Form:
Alliteration
Hatched from an egg, larva begins gathering around massive trees;
consuming enough leaves sufficient for morphing within chrysalis.
Once this process is a success, reconfigured caterpillars nibble and wiggle their way out.
Something extraordinary happens—
Atomic metamorphosis liberates an epiphany.
Majestic, colorful creatures emerge—
Beautiful butterflies make birth, liberated larva bloom, flourish and blossom
A state away from cocoon, a graceful performer sets sail.
Boating across blue skies, butterflies float in thin air.
Rays of sunlight break amid overcasting clouds.
Bright shiny wings vibrantly glisten.
Seeing colors, happiness smiles and goosebumps pan out shivers.
Butterflies of beauty miraculously appear.
Viewing spectacular enlightenment—
Bearing witness to an irrefutable, sighted stupendousness.
Delighted butterflies reminisce, recalling life as larva.
Remarkably capable of flying anymore, professing subject ability by becoming remarkably adept; nearly instantaneously.
And no matter how ugly the world may seem; at times—
Butterflies of beauty allow belief, tarrying wings of hope.
Metamorphic, frosted cookies maintain my emotional environment; anchoring momentous love.
Inclined to bind a beating heart—
Now filled through butterflies of beauty, deep blue eyes shine, reflecting love and life; unveiling romantic harmony.
1/09/17
For contest sponsored by Mystic Rose.
Categories:
tarrying, beauty, butterfly,
Form:
Free verse
Twas in the darkest pitch black of night
That those demons came pounding the gates
Taking siege round the walls of my soul.
So, I hoisted my flag up high
Inverted, and hid there to wait
In the dungeons for the King's patrol!
In fear, I tried to swim the sewers
To sneak past them by way of the lake
But the disturbance there was too great,
For they were encamped by the moors
So I swam back quiet as a snake
To that hellish and uncertain fate.
Sleep did in tarrying finally come
And with it a sweet comforting ease
From the din of my demonic siege,
I woke to the silence of the drums
And the stillness of a silent peace
By faith giving thanks to my Liege.
Embolden to venture out I went
By the calm still waters of my soul
And there I saw a beautiful thing,
My Lord Yeshua's familiar footprints
Where in battle He stood to control
Those devils, I serve a mighty King!
Timothy I. Brumley
Categories:
tarrying, hope, inspirational, introspection, uplifting,
Form:
Narrative
May 15 Scripture Meditations Based on Psalms 69-72
Key Verse – Psalm 70:5 But I am poor and needy: make haste unto me, O God: thou art my help and my deliverer; O LORD, make no tarrying.
MY GOD, THANK YOU FOR BEING READY TO HELP ME
Thank You for being ready to help me against sinking in sins’ deep mire
For never letting my soul to suffer in hell’s fire
Because You love me with Your compassion that does not tire
Despite my lack of holiness that You require and desire.
Thank You for being ready to help me against thriving submission-reluctance
For never hurting my heart that’s earnest to show repentance
Because You care for me midst fellowship’s intimacy, not from a distance
Despite my frustration over absence of faith’s substance.
Thank You for being ready to help me against wearying foolishness
For never turning my seeking toward Your wisdom’s purposiveness
Because You teach me by Your scriptural instruction-effectiveness
Despite my unbelief’s stubbornness midst ignorance-perilousness.
Thank You for being ready to help me against overflowing hardship
For never undermining my prayer in my service-stewardship
Because You uphold me in Your offered labor-partnership
Despite my inconsistency in surrendering to Your workmanship.
Thank You for being ready to help me against confounding reproaches
For never insulting my sincerity with condemning searches
Because You regard me and my frailty-crutches
Despite my pride of vain hunches along blinking selfishness-torches.
Thank You for being ready to help me against attacking adversaries
For never pushing my choices into destruction-set territories
Because You guard me by Your protective miracles’ mysteries
Despite my doubts’ vexations and needfulness’ worries.
May 15, 2022
Categories:
tarrying, blessing, christian, faith, god,
Form:
Rhyme
Oh how are we such fools?
Fools who utter words we seldom mean and reckon.
Casting a blind eye,
to those that heed to words spoken.
Oh what fools are we?
That fathom from earth’s best
But become its worst.
Oh how we are such fools
As we spit out words;
Words we mean not;
As we make them slur
To confuse endearing hearts.
What has become of our kind?
What has become of this generation of ours?
Oh what fools we are;
As we tread on words that hath no depth
Words of deceit.
Wouldn't the very best of our ancestors be dismayed?
Oh what fools are we?
Fools that carry hearts delicately
To a place of supreme jubilation
With no intent of tarrying there long.
When did it become of pardon?
A great bard once scribbled
“Speak clearly if you speak at all;
Carve every word before you let it fall;
And do not forget to act on it”
Oh what fools we have become
Betrothed to a world of nothing but treachery
A great bard’s word we have taken
So lightly, so without regard
Oh what fools we have become
Fools who speak ever so eloquently
With nothing but malice we intend
Oh lord, what fools we are
What fools we have become.
© Herzel Poshiwa
Categories:
tarrying, change, culture, how i
Form:
Free verse
He is the African War General,
After his massive Digestion of Seven "JUMBO" Spliff Joints and more,
The sage wont forget to mention his Gulp-in of four pints of dark 'Wicked' Rum before
His Very taste of a Healthy,Well-Balanced Breakfast,
His soul must be very Strong or Twice this Dead..'Once a soldier must I die a
soldier'..Words that put the heart of man to rest.
To carry-on...thus to Tarry-on...We must Carry-on 'Words I learnt from The very Lips of
the King of the Clan..He Truelly Tarried-on,
In Tarrying-on what shall we do...Bowing to worship 'Man' what oxygen shall we breathe,
How many campaigns did He Launch,
Sitting before this campfire chanting war Slogans,Songs and corrosive War Slangs,
I believe it was his very words that made those Flames and Sparks leap this High,
In the battle's very heat did he Unsheath the Heads of Three War Chieves and more.
He is the African War General...
Please do imagine him as he Emerges so strongly from the burning coals that attendeth
the paths of a locale warlord,
Steaming red foaming blood...It is a hard sight..Really not too Dark a sight for an
Intelligent promising Lieutenant,
Who took that last life saving accurate shot that saved 'The-Then-Fiercest-of-War-
Generals,
Who slung that same lethal...killing shot..Pumping in Hot-Lead into the same Man we all
slaved to Save.
The Sundry Deeds of a Highly Martial Mind...Appraising Salient Field Marshals and More.
Categories:
tarrying, adventure, art, peace, uplifting,
Form:
Ballad
Centered around ephemeral shapes,
Now—shapeless now—flailing—
Yellows, blues, oranges and reds,
Heat eating what surrounds it till it Can no more—eyes—in the fire. . .
The way life moves toward danger,
And eyes watch closely,
Growing and slackening,
Distant singing and laughter. . .
The fires that hear stories of the ancient ways,
Tarrying through the tales,
The coldness of the wild behind their backs,
Smoke reaching toward starlit wonderlands. . .
I hear resilience in the horror—
And in the unison of kinship,
Bodies moving closer to one another,
As the eyes at last close against the coals
2.13.20
Note: I wanted to play with a little fire today.
I wanted to write "Smoke reaching toward starlit wonderlands" but didn't feel I had room... however, I wanted to make it clear that the smoke hasn't made it there to that starlit wonderland...just like we reach toward the stars but don't quite get there sometimes. I hope that makes an ounce of sense, and I don't know why that makes me emotional and that it's so important to me, but I felt the need to share...
Anyway, sending love to all and extra warmth today, wherever you may be.
Love, Laura
Categories:
tarrying, art, character, conflict, courage,
Form:
Romanticism