Best Wayfarers Poems
Though unconscious we are born
In pains we live, we fade, we die
But life like river flows on
Quickly and slowly we pass bye
The wave, the tide
They blow and kick us about
We wrestle, we fight
We cry, we laugh out
Life is for a season
Like flowers in sunrise
The tour for a reason
In life we strive to rise
On the path we stumble
Depressed and forlorn
The undulation unbearable
Bliss! Bliss!! We beckon
Life is really a journey
Some exit, some excel
Like pilgrims we journeyed
Though its path no one can tell
Like wayfarers we progressed
Dark cloud on our path abound
The rain, the sun our goal repressed
Excruciating pains, still we onward bound
On this last railroad journey, all’s ablaze
new stars pulse over veins of feathered trees,
and melt in their faint blinks of night's decrees
they flicker through me white solace and haze.
Quite often, I have scanned the moonlight’s trail
as winds can pierce into my heart and know
my need for strength will always thrive, and row
until end’s trip, when grinds of wheel travail.
Much like this ride, I'll walk the endless course
as seen among wayfarers’ eyes dark gold
where swallows reel above to reinforce
the edge of night, far fair, I do behold.
For hope is always wishful, always strong
and, only then shall my dreams rush, headlong.
Soap Opera Titles Contest: Janis Thompson
10/25/2018
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Spenserian Sonnet ~ 'abab bcbc cdcd ee.'
Along this foggy daybreak stroll,
I tread along the intersection
between Mabini Street and EDSA boulevard,
crossing number 25 Ortigas Road.
I breathe in the same grain
of Manila pollen and dust itching
my throat ; an acrid mound of city garbage
gathered by rain’s aftermath,
as if to beckon another tropical deluge;
and the loud chatter of headlines
from the newspaper stand pierces
the lobes with a burning jolt… a bundle
of political scoops and trade rumors
grating an otherwise neutral hour.
Few distances away, a flea market stand
vibrates with energy; pedestrians milling
around to check buko pies, plum bits,
and homemade guava jams… the exotic aromas
mixing with smoky flavor of dried bamboo leaves
on top of abaca wares; all these catering
to small pleasures of the low-middle working class.
Curving through Francis Square, a deluge
of movement initiates the 7 30 am rush…
buses, cars, and taxi- stands unload
a giant hive of wayfarers coming from
different points of the map; dragging
their skeletal frames like ticks of a clock.
Amidst a Friday hub, I stop to glance at the
towering statue of Mother Mary as a
cart-pusher slowly wanders by; his warm
smile bearing a contrast in a region
where the rat race of man is typical.
Surrounded by a collage of fragrant
eucalypti and mango trees, I breath in
a sense of delight likened to my
yard’s garden, this time, with heady scent.
The plump oaks at the front lobby
of Pharmo Industries are shedding
foliage, while a painted splash
of native robins cruises from laced twigs,
far beyond the clutter of newspaper stands,
market place, and taxi-stands.
My gaze casts inward to balance my thoughts,
as I begin my protracted stay at work.
Stand Contest of Debbie Guzzi
and Nathan's One of Your Best
by nette onclaud
The Holy Spirit is like the wind which, comes and goes
Cascading diamonds of Light....
Swept into the breeze; met by Clouds of comfort
Cherubs, whom disperse its Bright ~
Guardians and Messengers, sent, from the Glorious Throne upon high
Close your eyes and take a ride, to where and from; this Telling through Time....
Now standing at Sanctities threshold; those delicate Deliverers; Sublime
Idylically Endowed as the Psalmist; composed ~
By Passions loving Palms; this, the Pen of a ready Writer
To gaze upon the Stars; to bow before the Stone; a Cloak of many Colours....
A Fragrant perfume; as Oil dripping from a Honeycomb; gently
Such Sweetened myrrh of, Opulence ~
Beggers and Sojourners, sitting by the wayside
Wayfarers, now dead unto this World yet, so very Alive....
Myoptic vision, washed from priceless Souls and, Branded upon their Hearts
Piercings slicing through the night; Blessed Blades ~
Pantheons panes; Transcending, this Mortal glass
Revelations upon the Wings of Deliverence from, these Tales once told....
Rubies and Sapphires and Amethyst to hold; azimuthic Amulets
This Holy Spirit as the Wind which comes and, then goes ~
Cascading diamonds of such, Heavenly Light....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"The Anointing"
Note: Smile ~ "'Joyous & Happy Holidays,' to All; 'Love & Warmth,' Always," John!:) ~
Gravel crusted potholes, all slathered up with mud,
And ruts that jar your bones served on the side.
No place to turn around: I know because I've tried;
The heavy rains bring washouts from flash floods.
A great big hill so steep it evokes fear and dread
(When sloshing in a truck with two-wheel drive).
A ravine filled with brush, and trees no more alive,
Old tires guide wayfarers where to tread.
Out near 231, the forest's sounds subside;
The asphalt groove song echoes in your head.
And there, just 'round the bend, that quiet sense of dread:
The trail down to the place the woman died.
The big wide world awaits: four-lane divided life
To work and church and friends and so much more.
A fleeting mirror's glance; the heart takes flight to soar
To land, to lodging, daughter's family, wife.
Gravel crusted potholes, all slathered up with mud,
Like servings of my favorite dessert.
The tires turn to joy as paved gives way to dirt;
This road's my home: there's Huskey in my blood.
Blithe fools traipsing through bleary hollow
Airy sprites in hovering tents shadow
Brooding sylvan fringe shrouding light with her swaying willow
Jaded beams peep through the crenelated steeple's window
Sprouting thickets bristling with spiny tendrils each step harrow
Creepy vermin frenetically scurry under foot from burrow to
burrow
A musty dampness shivers intruders; beneath feet liken's slimy
residual doth grow
Whistling winds hauntingly whisper a doleful strain
Ominous portent overhead; hoot owls continuously bleet their eerie
refrain
Perilous pitfalls surround; ensnaring cracks, crevices unwitting lives
drain
Poisonous foliage ensconses the beaten path distilled with its
potion of pain
Jagged course nearly run; wayfarers enlightened by each
cumbersome travail
Weary itinerants seasoned on nature's, menacing plain
Pensively treading the last mile over the rough, foreboding terrain
cleaving the black rock
the proud tree blocks wayfarers ---
wild shrubs hail the show
?
speeding naughty yacht
tears white skirts of green waters ---
questioning her course
?
silver waterfalls
like an Indian widow ---
on a shadow walk
?
rays of morning sun
play hide and seek with blossoms ---
breeze busy with trees
?
though not autumn time
ferocious maple leaves fall ---
wind escapes from blames
02 August 2022
Light falters in through the cracks
of an ancient wall
While the moss grows lime green on
stones near the shore
In another land
people are filled with bright expectations
Over the sounding sea
the sound of sea horns can be heard
The broad expanse of the ocean
will be crossed
As new wayfarers come to our land
Bringing with them shards of memory
of cultures unknown to these shores
Bringing with them shards of "storied pomp"
Kacha
Yes Devayani
You have made
Those moments
Once again alive in my mind
I very much remember
That it was only after yours strong
And adamant requests
That your father had allowed me
To become his disciple
Because he never wanted
To hurt your feelings
You being his most
Darling daughter. 14
Devayani
And do you have
Any remembrance
Of those sweet moments
When we used to sit for hours
In the soft pleasing Moon lights
On our small straw cushioned boat
Which used to move very slowly
On the milky looking water
Of the lovely River Venu
Every year during the summers. 15
You remember how our boat
Was often touched and stopped
By some of the stems
Of Sarkanda* plants
Which grow mainly
Outside the river line
But some of them
Grow touching the river water
And they grow in abundance
With their white fur like flowers
Waving and welcoming the passerby
Whenever any gush of winds
Kiss their soft fur skins
Then they began to move and dance
To show their inner joys and songs
All along the shores
Of the river Venu
Often fascinating the wayfarers
To watch them
Or to get lost in them
To listen to their Song of Silence
As we were always
Their best natural friends.
Do you remember any of them
Dear Kacha?
Ravindra
Kanpur India 10th Aug. 2014
To continue...
Protected under the
Copyright provisions
of Poetry Soup.
Ravindra K Kapoor
NOTE : To know the
background of this
story please read Part 1.
or Use the BELOW
given URL
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=589266
Wobbly, these feet… sagging on miles
of dangled reeds: a hike takes me
to an attic of moonlight, bestowing bows
of serenity prayers for wayfarers
unyielding to a precise compass
of direction, reckless as it were,
losing the self to gypsy stones
and nomadic thistles bearing my trails...
for a moment, I release this soul buried
in the belly to a chorale of air's hymns
taking flight unto a trail of obedience
moved by pure lightness: no longer a weight
or content divided, but equaled by
forms of singularly whole reminisces...
)*
*.))
Poetry Unhinged for john lawless
8/29/2016
The restless night had ended
abruptly. Caught between dreams and
consciousness, the town was arching towards
the sprinkled light of dawn. A perpetual regularity
reigned over the dusty path that led wayfarers and commuters
alike in and out of this forgotten cluster of humanity. Somewhere
out there, a man cursed, and, as if to answer, a woman laughed. A
repetitive metallic clang—the whines of an iron plate being hammered upon an anvil—
twisted with a dog's tedious, short barking to form a discordant ladder of dread, telling how the day might turn out. Punctuating that were the weary shouts of
the night guard. An advice. A message. “Awake! Morning is here.” “Awake!
Morning is here.” A woman walked beside countless others in a long, silent
procession. Steps measured and heavy, hardly disturbing the dirt, eyes ever
forward, locked at the sunrise. Life hadn't been kind to her. At forty-five she
looked sixty. It was just her luck that age had been frivolous enough to come
early, and sketch a crude lesson at cubism across the pages of her skin. The
grey streams on her hair had become a roaring river of high
monsoon. The frozen, dark pools of her eyes had given way
to the smokestack dullness. On that day, like the day prior,
she had woken up with honks of a garbage truck out on the
street and drunk the cheap, inky tea that she
had made for herself and her son.
Bathing under a valveless tap, she
had put on her helmet, and set out.
The siren from the jute mill had blared
with an obscene loudness and promise.
She had to answer. She squared her shoulders
and trudged on, reeling back into the open maw of her
her slow, almost languid death, like a cassette on rewind.
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Date: 31 / 12 / 2016
High noon sun would soon turn
Her petite, ruddy face into one freckle
She rubbed the juice from a fresh lime
Across her brow so the bangs might bleach
The white sand brushed the strand
and aquamarine surf that cut a split on the Caye
reflected mint green off the lens of her Wayfarers
Almost lathered in coconut oil
Her cutis emitted the scent of sandalwood
And warm mackeroons
Her smile hinted of a sweet, pitted apricot
Its puckered core with eyes closed
Waiting for that first kiss
That would never come
I met her in the morning last week
On the corner of happy and chirpy
The day she tossed her cookies in the street
And swore off cashew wine and meat pie
Her tummy hadn’t been the same since;
The because of a picnic basket brimming
With plain yogurt and sourdough sticky buns
“Look at that phosphorescent fish” she exclaimed
Spurting seawater that had backed up
in the snorkel tube into my eyes, her mask
catawampus across her cheeks
“I think you mean fluorescent” retorted I
“it is all the same” she beamed
And smacked her face back into the water
I couldn’t help but chuckle
And dove down so she would not notice
Shadows off the palm leaves told me
It was time to head back to the water taxi
With what remained of her chartreuse
Lipstick, she now resembled a fried crustacean
It made me hungry and I longed for croutons
She either talked or sang something like
A muzzled version of Del Shannon’s “Down in the Boondocks”
The entire trip
When we docked her now blond locks
Sheared her rostrum and her
White teeth winked at me
Oh my …. Shall I say goodbye?
Layering stroke by stroke
the syllables of filtered mist's breath,
eastern winds spin like a circle of tropical
fish and flower beds on a lattice...
and the soft tresses of this air pours
on wayfarers sort of crystal beads new.
Then another circle whistles
inside my flesh, a sponge... an oasis,
bathing loin towel of morn dawning;
how its flavor speaks and lifts
trinkets of jeweled drops
to lightly swirl away.... mid way.
Wind Contest: SKAT's
8/29/2015
One coin; two sides
Cold, dark, eerie night
Vampires spreading terror
In wayfarers hearts.
Indoors, lovers snuggled tight
Of the terror, oblivious!
Let’s go roam head and heart,
To meet many a millionaire
Of mind; meet, soon to depart.
The air outside, beckoning fair,
Wafting here what to deliver?
Sagas of wayfarers that dare.
Let’s soar, let’s struggle, endeavour,
New friendship to savour, and food
For thought for lifetime to savour.
What use this soulful solitude?
To what end its inner cues?
Let’s roam, return if to brood.
This life’s each moment’s meant to muse,
Let’s not sing laments of sorrows,
Let’s see varied hearts’ vibrant hues.
Let not today turn to morrow,
No one can stretch time, nor borrow,
For, they that roam rhyme and grow.
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Inspired by a Gujarati piece by Niranjan Bhagat
Inspirations | 03.03.2017 |