Best Waylaid Poems
Furious wind from the north hisses louder,
banging against the gaped mouth of a sky, drenched…
Haggard, the night wheezes with quack
of birds waylaid; a time of unruly rainfall
crashing once more: and the moon grows bald,
groaning a jumble of cracked acoustics:
On and on, the roar of sleet
pierces through lush trees
in a noise that grates far into the dark horizon,
an energy fierce like a woman scorned.
How she blares a war amidst a company of men,
flowers, and all in one driven ride
that her wild thrill rasps zooms ---
until on ninth hour
a slow-motion of rhythm flows,
while she pauses to croon a mellow tune
as if... in final taps of a wail,
nothing ever happened.
For Shadow Hamilton:The Noise Contest
Written 3/9/2017
In the smiting chill of a dreadful wintry night
When through every fiber n’ nerve, was the cold bite,
I was sitting cocooned beside my hearth,
Sipping a cup of steaming tea of my choicest blend.
Suddenly my attention was caught by something moving,
Through my window I saw a shadowy figure.
But who would dare to be out on such a night?
It was a night when winter slumber suddenly had grown,
Into a blizzard with blinding snow and hail flooding
When the land lay blanketed under snow’s strangulating clutch
When leafless trees stood motionless like spectral shadows
When animals stayed in their boroughs or dens in hibernation
But what I thought I had seen earlier
Was not a whim or a figment of my imagination.
I clearly saw someone walking, moving slowly or stealthily.
It disturbed me and I wanted to know who he was.
Unlikely to be a robber or a rogue with some sinister intent.
Could be a man who lost his way and needed urgent help.
Impelled by an irresistible urge to find out who he was,
I plunged myself into the sea of snow holding on to faith.
Faint moon light was shimmering between dancing snowflakes.
Not quite sure if I would find an enemy or a friend,
I walked on, pledging I would face what might come.
As I moved closer to that tottering figure
I realized he was someone half frozen in snow,
Desperately trying to get back home,
And I was on a divine mission to be the hands of God,
To direct a waylaid traveler back home,
And save a helpless soul from being frozen to death.
I don’t know what happened to that man beyond that night,
But am sure, he has survived many more winters,
And would be thankful to God for the providential help,
That saved his drowning life on such a fateful wintry night.
Now when I think of it, I feel even a bleak winter day,
Can be made bright by the power of kindness that we show.
It is the concern and preparedness to help someone in trouble,
That ignites our hearts with a divine spark and helps us connect.
She fell from the light, into a world shadowed in gray.
~ by poet
An angel pouted to protest her punitive plight
No repentant redemption for her serious sins
Wings waylaid, the fatuous one was felled in flight
And from Heaven hurled; now banishment begins
Resentfully she roams in shadows of somber skies
An enraged expression marring her fractious face
A ranting rebel like the dastardly devil, father of lies
Dwelling in darkness due to her decadent disgrace
No earthly escape will she discover through death
Crows circle and caw, crying out in a clamoring voice
With crass words she crudely curses in banal breath
Wicked wrongdoer, condemned for her corrupt choice
With foolish folly she sorrowfully surrendered her soul
and delves within deep darkened depths for eternity
All alone, there will be no one to comfort and console
From shadows and suffering, she will never break free
She sulks upon sullen stygian shores of the river Styx
without a reprieve or relief from tormenting terror
There's no exit from her eternal eviction as time ticks
for Satan's spawn, shrouded in shame for her error
August 30, 2022
Alliteration Old or New Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
Words On The Go - playfully plying wordplay
A Reverse Rant, not averse to a terse verse
sublime rhymes of the times, no Writer's Block to unlock
a poem off the shelf To My Teenage Self
Who Would I Bring Back? We the People, our Secret Selves
The Transcendent Ms Vincent beckons Morris the Thesaurus Tortoise
to leave his shell and ride Arabians to Zebras
and write Cities of Sonnets, Graduations, Fascinations, alliterations
and Heartache's Milkshakes that take the cake
it's the Little Things that give her wings
as dulcet words awake and sing
we open our peepers For The Silence Keepers
Dressing Up Silly Words to spring forth, sing forth, bring forth
her streams of Dreams and April themes
of Pondering Poetry or Roses Of Agony
A Kindness where once was Emptiness:
Two Roses, a September Serenade of Green Anniversaries
made a parade for the maid in the waylaid shade
uncommon comments - the recipe is reciprocity
Her Legacy, Her Epitaph: a tear, a smile, a laugh
you write of The Stars -
of this mystical, magical, mythical, metaphysical
wonderful world of whirled words
If Only You Knew you help us to see
what Poems Can Be
// In tribute to the inimitable style of our wonderful poetess and Solitary Scribbler, Michelle Faulkner, in honor of Your Birthday on the 8th day of this Brief November: thank you, my artistry sibling, for your "rage of kindness, blinding your grieving ghosts". Keep writing and inspiring ~ John]
[Capitalized words are titles of poems by Michelle]
No torrid steel rod cauterized my wounds
I could not lick the festering gashes clean
Your sharp-bladed tongue bit too deep
fangs plunged with each vile cursed scene
No mere prick or scratch did you inflict
as thorns draw drops from a finger laid bare
You severed our dangling cord with a stare
Without gauntlet thrown before you swayed
I was waylaid in the pitfall of vows betrayed
I sat weeping upon moistened ground
faintly hearing from ears, a snarling sound
a vile bitterness in your laughter as I stirred
If you have a conscience, I shall be its burr
You turned your back and sidled away
basking in glory; your cruelty had been done
but there is no victory for you, nothing won
for a man whose feet were molded of clay
How often you preyed on weakness of others
while you played at being sanctimonious
Liquid courage brings death that smothers
but I escaped the hold you once tightly held
before my life had been snuffed and felled
I still breathe and I've no fear to speak
I've been set free, and I'm no longer weak
My tongue holds daggers of its own
whetted on the grind stone of your deception
I was hungry for strength, parched with thirst
to take vengeance as my anger grew
emotions that were long past due
Felling you would then label me a doer of evil
which is something I would never desire to be
Vengeance will never be mine to take
knowing this is true is what set me free
Years will pass but I shall never forget
that I was true to you, yet I sorely regret
not realizing the kind of person I loved
I've moved on and no longer grieve
while you still swim in the fiery waters
of your besotted world of make believe
A black cloud envelops my sky
Threatening to rain down a torrent of pain
Oceans of commotion swirl in my brain
And I try to bandage the wounds in vain
I see only the receding vistas of light
And night prowling like a stealthy thief
The past chills the mind like hanging icicles
And I feel so heavy with frozen grief
I inch my way up like an ugly snail
My life is riddled with contradictions
Oh, I am waylaid, lost and beaten
From every corner, I meet only oppositions
Yet dreams break forth in my heart
Amidst darkness shines a light
A call to spirit to seek the gift of recovery
Transforming pain into strength and delight
I must break loose of all the tethers
Let my soul embrace all that is dear
From this cage, I must fly out
The sky beyond me lies blue and clear!
Even at moments when we feel,
God has forsaken us, time assures;
However bad things are, recovery is possible,
When God is there quelling all our fears.
Now I am on a journey of redemption
I tell myself- “Come out from this hell
Just start anew, nothing is beyond recovery
The dawn is near and all shall be well”
The drizzle whips mildly like an omen
Along the ashen lane ; and I am troubled
While gazing through a drainage
Filled with mud and waylaid boughs,
As a quivered sigh trails below the cement
Until my knees bow down, wobbling.
I linger around almost numb
In the gradual dip of sunset’s orange hue;
While these eyes peep closer closer--
A moment too excruciating for me
For it lays still on debris … unmoved by any yell.
What I recall is a slip-sliding of our romp
Perhaps, a brief escape from my wet palm---
And now it is gone, my pet, my hamster
That I weep, unforgiving, upon rainfall…swollen.
3/18/2019
For Eve Roper: Down A Storm Drain Gone Forever
when dreams die, death isn't far
then hope leaves floating in a jar
search drawers cluttered closets too
neither are found
dreams scattered to the winds
but hope remained
someday, someday, in the future
was the constant refrain
health gone lost by the way
arthritis impedes talents waylaid
days there are hopes that health will come
then a sadness engulfs like a drum
somewhere enthusiasm disappeared
did someone else pick it up
or is it like the dust off tires by the roadside
has depression now settled in
A cumulonimbus cloud enveloped my sky,
Threatening to rain down a torrent of pain.
An ocean of commotion swirled in my brain.
My attempts to bandage the wounds turned in vain.
I saw only the receding vistas of light,
And night prowling like a stealthy thief.
The past chilled my mind like hanging icicles,
And I felt so heavy with frozen grief.
I inched my way up like a tardy snail.
My life got riddled with contradictions.
I felt I was waylaid, lost, bruised, and beaten.
From every corner, I met only constrictions.
When irredeemably lost in the labyrinth of life,
I heard an inner voice assuring me,
“Don’t worry, your life is in my hands.
Nobody always gets his way! Follow me!
I will walk in front as your all-time guide.
I will mend your scars and heal your wound.
I will hold your hand when you totter.
If fallen, I will lift you up from the ground.”
In an instant, I felt my tethers getting broken,
And my soul embracing all that is dear.
From the cage I knew I was flying out.
I saw the sky beyond, lying blue and clear!
Now I am on a journey of redemption,
Determined to follow Him wherever He directs.
I tell myself- “Nothing is beyond retrieval.”
Feel freed of everything that obstructs.
In the ripened wheat field, they safely gather together,
those poetic birds of a feather where peace now exists
No nimbus clouds overhead, threatening stormy weather
and no more blustery thunder roaring in bigoted trysts
It's now a pleasant oasis where comments are safe to drink
No camel riders disturbing the calm like a pack of marauders
Serenity is palpable without the rude disruption and the stink
of instigators trying to elicit a response... provoking prodders
Crows no longer take wing there with loud raucous caws
since the scarecrow lost his cool and had a total meltdown
To the sound of trills, there's no sight of sharpened claws
It's peaceful in the field these days. No one wears a frown.
It's a sanctuary of sorts where no weapons are allowed
and calm is the river that gently flows beneath the bridge
where subversives waylaid unsuspecting ones in a crowd
That kind of ill behavior is not missed, not even a smidge
We've all heard about the changes that would come along
Now, that time has finally arrived to be enjoyed at leisure
The site is more pleasant without the same old singsong
Sincere comments often given and taken in equal measure
It may not meet the qualifications to be a Garden of Eden
but as an In-A-Gadda-Da-Vidah? Perhaps it would qualify
since there are no pens used to cause anyone's bleedin'
and no one has been bitten or stung by an Iron Butterfly
In whispered silence two hearts run in league
Reluctant each to raise the wakeful mist
By mantle of night and moonlight’s sweet mystique
While forbidden fate hides a lovers’ tryst
The moon espies what hides in gentile guise
Though fate forbid a love one can’t resist
To live, to love and chance a heart’s demise
While dreams hearken to this lovers’ tryst
Bright moon, stand fast! Pray, ‘yond dawn, be stayed!
For Juliet, knowing well they’ll e’er desist
Wills not this blessèd night be here waylaid
For fear this dream remain a lovers’ tryst
Her surrendered heart belongs to Montague
The ‘morn will show if his own love be true
Christopher Thor Britt
Motif: Romantic
Lickety-split, I sit up and look at the clickety clock,
oh my gosh, why am I lollygagging in this cozy bed;
I am going to be so late for dance class, I better skedaddle,
so I canoodle my cats (hugs and kiss that is);
and like a flash I am out of bed!
Oh dear, what a rigmarole of unnecessary complexity,
I run to the kitchen and open a tin of, oh so stinky fish;
for the fur balls, (no accounting for taste,) my tummy rumbles,
I dress in my pink dance pants, brush my teeth;
I look in the mirror, holy macaroni!
I was going to wash the mop last night but didn't,
oh well, the flat iron turns me into a Cleopatra star;
then, I look outside, snow, lots of snow, blast I need boots,
oh yes under the bed where I flung them;
what a stupid kerfuffle!
Walking to dance, a bus sprays with me with slush,
darn nincompoop, I am thinking to myself and then;
a loud honk, and a car roars pass me, I almost have a stroke,
I finally make it and the receptionist says- cancelled,
cancelled, oh la-di-la, that's great!
I am walking back home when I step into a deep puddle,
and my feet are now soaking wet, I am just exhausted;
I will crawl back into my bed for a snoozle I say to me self,
but I am waylaid by my old fuddy-duddy neighbor;
dearie,(she whips out a grocery list)!
You know, I cannot walk in the snow, meantime her cat,
a fat Persian rubs my legs and I have fur from knees down;
but what can a girlie do, I turn around and hocus-pocus its done,
finally, I am standing in my bedroom all tatterdemalion,
like a child in rags, I feel like weeping!
And then I notice the collywobbles in my tummy,
like butterflies swirling, and then a great rumbling;
oh, damnation, I need something to eat, so I gongoozle,
stare that is, into the refrigerator, close the door, slam;
and grab a handful of cockamamie cookies!
_________________________
January 26, 2017
Poetry/Narrative/Lickety-Split
Copyright Protected, ID 17-8691-18-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest , Any Poem Written in January 2017
Sponsor, Laura Loo
First Place
She was wild; I was waylaid.
“TILL DEATH….THROW US.. A- PART Y!!”
(Death, truly an equalizer)
You may find it today
It comes in middle of the night/day
Casually,
Calmly,
Incidentally,
But, with finality!
Hope, though it's not deadly!
Without the coming of another day
When right at your door’s way
It may come knocking our way
It's God’s mysterious way - Judgment Day!
Instantly then sometimes indicatively
Exceptionally happy or emotionally
You and/or I waylaid, it could may
Young and old, may, by the way!
Thank Him for unlikely timely
To rest in a journey
In disbelief, yesterday or today
No McArthur’s way, somehow history!
Whether in shopping or hopping away
All the way not half way
It must make its way, certainly
Stiff and coldly, soon, only time vary!
Anyhow, cheer-up ,in this way
It could be a perfect day- an eternity
Come what may, boldly and heavenly
However, rosy and a Special Delivery!
Pray, pray and pray !
Meaning:
McArthur's Way: (History)
General McArthurs famous speech to the Filipino people: "I shall return"
Impressions of a teenager
I was born today twenty years ago
A healthy child with eyes of a doe
I grew up in a free world
Saw the national flag unfurled
Sang national anthem with devotion
A hand on my heart and no motion
It stirred my pride on secular belief
Sacrifices of martyrs elicited grief
I studied in cosmopolitan schools
Learnt honesty and obeying the rules
Ne’er differentiated between rich and poor
Or had any delusion to a life of grandeur
The TV news showed a bitter killing
The video clips were very chilling
A result of animosity between two men
One of whom lost in a gambling den
Days later two groups fought a bitter battle
The bone of contention was lifting of cattle
One group accused the other of eating beef
They said it was against their religious belief
Another day a young couple was burnt alive
The relatives and parents decided to connive
The girl loved, married the boy of lower caste
Retribution by the elders was prompt and fast
It’s awfully risky for girls to travel alone
Even if she has her mobile phone
She can be waylaid by men at a lonely place
Forced to satisfy their lust and face disgrace
“What has independence given us?” I ask
A discordant society oblivious of its task!
The sacrifices of martyrs appear to be in vain
All principles and ethics are down the drain
Greed of wealth and power is the motto
Governance is like a game of lotto
Honesty has ceased to be a virtue
Questioning the corrupt is breaking the curfew
End