Best Waylay Poems
Sitting in the stillness
Of early morning light
Freed again from darkness
That bleeds on through the night
Leaves from summer rustling
As soft gentle breezes blow
Colored by cool autumn nights
As stately trees prepare for snow
Soft music fills the silence
That begins a brand new day
Sung by a warbling wanderer
Who chooses to waylay
The many days that ended
With their burden overdue
Are forgotten in this moment
As you try to start anew
Selfish dreams of secret passions
Born of restless sleep
Hide the emptiness and sorrow
And the reasons why you weep
As the quiet desperation
Slowly drains from every pore
You lift a troubled conscience
That lay crumpled on the floor
Peace floods your weary spirit
As your heart and soul agree
When yesterday and tomorrow
Strive to live in harmony
written ©10.26.2016
Categories:
waylay, emotions, senses,
Form:
Quatrain
My darling sweet, wake to me!
A beautiful melody
is your morning treat.
Wake and hear the euphony
coming from a leafy tree.
Look, my darling sweet,
and a goldfinch you will see.
In his trill is poetry
sounding joy replete.
Hasten to your window seat.
Look outside and see dawn greet
you with its first ray.
Rise, my love, and with bare feet,
through the fields of amber wheat
we will run today.
Come follow me. I entreat
you. Hasten, love; time is fleet.
Darling, don’t delay!
There is nothing to waylay
us. This is a golden day.
Where marigolds gleam
in the meadow we will play.
Then down where the cattails sway
by a sun-lit stream,
all the afternoon, we’ll stay.
Come with me, love. Come away
to my golden dream.
2012
Categories:
waylay, romance,
Form:
Verse
Tishmandu
My eyes can see
That the sand is like sea
And it stretches to the end of my mind
On a ship set to sail
with four legs and a tail
Tishmandu I set out to find
Now the wind is of sand
and can lend a hand
in tearing the flesh from your bone
So your head you keep wrapped
your snaps keep snapped
and you never travel alone
The heat at midday
is to kill and waylay
if the body and soul are not one
So you pray to the east
and prepare for slim feast
begging passage under full sun
Caravan of the seed
born on camels that breed
in an endless march between wells
Over lost count of dunes
under God and full moons
blessing passage with incense and bells
At the end of the day
when gold turns to grey
and the stars brighten the skies
A device is brought forth
to determine true north
and the path where Tishmandu lies
On the fortieth morn
pressing lips to the horn
a signal beckons us wake
Leaving water behind
on a course now refined
the final leagues we must take
Tishmandu is a place
where a white mans face
has never been seen or allowed
But the people have need
and my service agreed
in a land under sky without cloud
Like feathers of blue
in the distance I view
the flags on top of the walls
Though my limbs are worn
my very fabric is torn
I move towards Tishmandu halls
At last in the shade
a walled shelter is bade
I meet with the maker of rules
A service I bring
but to rules I must cling
or a tortures price must be paid
Twenty days and seven
in the passes of heaven
I treated the sick and the lame
With rules on my mind
the medicines I grind
The devil of Tish for to tame
As I washed the sick
and avoided blunt stick
the God of the desert did smile
For the people made well
in this fortified hell
where spirit is subject to trial
In the end I am paid
for the journey I made
and the healing and medicine new
On my camel back
salted meats in my pack
I Bid farewell to Tishmandu
RAMA, Ink
Categories:
waylay, adventure, dedication, fantasy, health,
Form:
There's mischief in the air, and in the sky
Rises fair, sublime, and rare - Blue Moon.
Son of Venus, hidden, now lets fly
An arrow to a chaste fair maid who soon
Shall spy a youthful eager boy and sigh
As through the dance hall wafts a wistful tune.
For she, with goddess body silken-clad,
And rosebud cheeks and locks the color wheat,
Turns - the first she sees - a simple lad.
She's drawn to him - this boy that she must meet.
He sees her too; his countenance turns glad,
For she approaches with a smile so sweet!
Her face feels flushed; her blood now courses fire
beneath the spot where Cupid's dart was thrust.
With lingered gaze she speaks her soul's desire.
A feathered touch. To have him now she must.
Her honeyed voice and breath. He can't respire.
Her scent; the darkened room! He feels the lust.
He takes her by the waist of her soft dress.
They slowly move along the corner floor.
His fingers wrap around her back and press.
She leans into his body, wanting more.
Her fingers tread his neck; then they caress.
And next he leads her to the exit door.
She follows, not protesting, to his place,
Where, on the floor, their clothing soon is flung.
They fall onto his bed in an embrace.
With pleasured aching, soon they're lost among
the tangled sheets as bodies interlace.
He touches where her silken gown once clung. . .
Winged scamp with cherub's face and ready bow,
You laugh at each new fool that you waylay.
For love of reckless passion born, you know,
can't last. She wakes, and you've since traipsed away.
She gasps and shakes. The lad is dealt a blow,
His face once loved - now loathed by light of day.
Categories:
waylay, passion,
Form:
Narrative
Five after four in the morning. Night-sweats
rumple silk bed sheets. Vague cusp ‘tween night and day
blurs chiseled contours of sanity’s sharpness.
Dreams half-way loosed into consciousness waylay
snuggling comforts. Wee hours’ vague demons lurk
tucked beneath pillowcased hopes, threatening melee.
Coffee at four twenty, brewed under knee-jerk
rituals uncritically gleaned in tender years,
won’t clear the spider webs. Thinking is hard work.
Terrible, really, yet recently shed tears
obscure simple joy’s sole right to imminence,
caking like blood drawn by yesterday’s spears.
‘Til mercy’s sunbeams despite grief’s vehemence
melt bitter frostbite of long lost innocence.
Categories:
waylay, angst, hope, introspection, sad,
Form:
Terza Rima
Shores of doom
Needn’t engulf the space in your mind
Where without your will gloom
Can’t inhabit until faithless fleas and spiritual sleaze find
Room and space to waylay and slay without delay
The faith you profess to possess
In a spray without a ray stray
Strung and hung when you dispossess
Your faith of the strength and depth
Which faith has sunk into its roots
In each significant step and faith breath
You smuggle and gaggle in the boots
You wear with pride as you deride the loss
You claim not to suffer in the dwarf
You call disbelief and the abandon toss
Spotted in the wharf
Where faith ought to find succor
By virtue of the pride of place
You claim to allocate to the anchor
Faith can’t in your mind squeeze from a disbelief trace in a lace
Shores of doom and gloom striving to mount
On your faith a determined assault
Within a number of sorties you dismount
As conscience pangs claim it’s no longer our fault.
Categories:
waylay, poems,
Form:
Free verse
But fiction you are, our Juliet, unborn,
mere humans find love so hard to portray,
thus leading many to their death, astray,
fear not a Romeo is born each day.
Childless children be not to death forsworn.
Why leave the bloom of youth in this dark way?
To these false examples swear not, allay ...
these foolish gestures and stay unmourned.
What care true love for false sacrifice's knife
or petal poisons made by perverse form,
live and brave the days with courage cajoled.
Oh, waylay the cowards path, leave your grief,
for grief will come to all within life's storm;
live a full life linger for life is gold.
Categories:
waylay, childhood, death, love, love
Form:
Italian Sonnet
While buzzing one day around Beijing
my two faceted eyes saw something,
a man named Liu Xiabo
thrown in jail like cargo
Nobel Peace prize of no, he was hamstringed.
Fast flew I, to his fine mistresses house
and found the commies had lured his wife out
the press to waylay
on his special day
all the leadership could do was grouse!
Finding my way to Liu Xiabo’s cell,
it seems all free men here, live in hell.
He smiled with kind eyes
said “Ah, life’s the prize!
perhaps, I will arise, who can tell?"
*2010 Nobel Peace Prize Winner for his efforts
in obtaining human rights in China was jailed
by his government.
Categories:
waylay, adventure, animals, funny, politicalpeace,
Form:
Limerick
Take my senses away
Make me crazy,
Stir some memories
Make a story;
Oh, Love me to death,
Give me a life then kill me.
Show me the way
Then lead me astray,
Enrich me with love
Then waylay me;
Be my friend, betray me,
Be my God, bedevil me.
Let's congregate in a tavern
Worship in this safe haven,
Follow no faith
Pander to no priest;
Let's hobnob with the angels,
Befriend the demons on the sly.
Drag my soul through the desert
Then carouse there in an oasis,
Set me ablaze with your passion
Then douse it with your sweat;
Let's sleep on a bed of cactuses
And thumb our noses at the heavens.
Ha, let's grow up
And just kid around,
Lie down in a grave
And wake up in a cradle;
Let's usurp the world from Atlas
And rattle the hell out of its core!
~A Strand (1047) contest
~Sponsor: Brian Strand
Categories:
waylay, conflict, confusion, me,
Form:
Free verse
There’s Father’s Day
There’s Mother’s Day
Why can’t there be Brother’s Day
Maybe in the month of May
Set it up without delay
A Brother’s Day
Mom and Dad would probably say
A brother always gets his way
On Brother’s Day
Where would all his sisters stay?
Why – far away
On Brother’s Day
Lunch would be a big subway
Eaten at a small café
On Brother’s Day
And Mom and Dad would be OK
With dinner on a TV tray
On Brother’s Day
Dinner maybe fish fillet
As his entree
On Brother’s Day
Or maybe something done flambé
Anything in big display
On Brother’s Day
And maybe an ice cream buffet
Or a big parfait
On Brother’s Day
And maybe he would get to play
With modeling clay
On Brother’s Day
Or a game of old croquet
Munching Frito-lay
On Brother’s Day
And you can bet there’s be horseplay
Full blown chaos – no halfway
On Brother’s Day
No cutesy pie in no beret
No Tutu from no ballet
On Brother’s Day
No girlie-girls with their hairspray
They can all just sashay
On Brother’s day
Every brother would hooray
If they could waylay
A Brother’s Day
It’s no cliché
Brothers everywhere will pray
For Brothers’ Day
My neice has 4 kids - 3 girls and a boy and the little guy was feeling left out and
wanted to know when Brothers Day.
Categories:
waylay, brother, childhood, family, children,
Form:
Rhyme
Dear trafficker,I am on the run
With face emitting fear
Worn in clothe surged into rag
By the scissors of rape
linen scars
With the screech from angry nails;
narrow escape.
Do not ask why I run
Like a prey dodging the hunters’ gun
from thick darkness I run, in search of sun
I am but a derelict
Worn in tattered smock
As the whirlwind stirs frustration
and my hopes remain forlorn
I would relish the scary street
Here is better than your hell
No more shall your contractor waylay my ardent strife
Fruitless life
Sweat in shambles
Still I boast of no life
I wouldn’t come,
Without the credence from your tongue
You said the pastures are green
and life is but a melodious song
Meanwhile you had it planned all along
To make laborers from our clan
The poorer we are, the richer you become
I am only sixteen,
Devoured by manly mantle
For sordid pleasures
My pride will they rumple
and vowed that I shan’t see the morrow’s dawn
If I dare relinquish the place of a pawn
As heeds the rivers’ wave and tide, the coxswain
So do I heed commands that deepens my pain
I am stocked
Can’t move forward, nor to the back return
I am disheartened
With no hope of a glorious turn
In the street corners I shall lay
Where wanton mosquitoes fly
I lay in the spring of tears
Till heaven hears my cry
Trafficker as I lay with earthly stings
I know you are somewhere
Feeding on chicken wings
I run for a place to lay my head
If it means to bunk on grass in exchange for bed
I would anything, than stay in my mistress’ den
Where I am a meal to many men
Daemon! You orchestrated my fall
You took my harvest and careless if I perish
You said papa will be fine when I work
This is all for papa and you know
Why then is my story so
Tell the kids in Togo's loitering street
and all the troubled ones in Africa
When a man like this beacons
Please resist his soothing tongue
For he is darkness in array of light
As he would cajole, to cast on you a lasting plight
He is a coward,
whose fortune depends on our sweat
and in greed, would he have some souls to-let
Trafficker, don’t from your evil schemes relent
Till justice come, and then you’ll have no chance to repent.
Categories:
waylay, angst,
Form:
Lyric
Life is a playground,
where folks ‘play’ around,
Catch-me-if-you-can,
most favoured by man,
Some play badminton,
with points they’re smitten,
Volleyball goes on,
hit us with their con,
Basketball they play,
with round nets waylay,
Yet others race on,
to the trophy drawn,
Happy noises heard,
enjoy game preferred,
Yes, life’s a playground,
with deep lessons found.
06.20.2021
For Shreya LN's "Playground" contest
5 syllables per line
Categories:
waylay, games, life, metaphor,
Form:
Rhyme
Dumping pieces of paper is gone
count, inflate, jump, hide figures
do arithmetic of the underworld
boom, bang, boom, bang, bang, oh!
I do see these figures very clearly
imperialism, why are you still here?
boom, boom, bang, bang, bang
clear up; I am coming in, no delay
Colonialism, whom do you waylay?
you make me excited power-fool
boom, boom, bang, bang give way
stand on my way at your own risk
Dollars, yen, pounds, fill these holes
my love for you is life everlasting
boom, boom, bang, bang take care
arithmetic is excellent, no complain
Enemies of this gold-filled land
magic numbers have spoken right
boom, boom, bang, bang, style up
you say; but…but… who are you?
The power-fool is recklessly right
In power-fool’s diary, power is might
Categories:
waylay, africa, pain, sad, satire,
Form:
Elegiac Lyric
The world can sputter around us,
deject and confound us
topple us up one side and right down the other
but I'll still be me and you'll still be you.
The people we love can abhor us,
can coddle too much or ignore us
verbalize truths which would be best if kept hidden
but I'll always know the deep value in you.
Our bodies can start to waylay us
twist cripple, and scold us
turn chestnut hair grey and blond locks to sand
but I will still see the youth in you.
Our minds can confuse us
turn limp and sidetrack us
replay our old memories like black and white films
but I'll never forget the real image of you.
Death may betray us,
may break up and dismay us
take one of us first to the deepest of sleeps
but I'll be waiting one way or another, and I'm guessing, that you will be too.
Categories:
waylay, friendship, life, love, people,
Form:
Rhyme
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XIX
IF you pull a long plucky face
Even when I-Ee-You let you have your way
Placed no impediment for the divorce
Let you keep key to backstop exit doorway
You yet keep pulling that long stubborn face
Yes you want out when I want you to stay
House in utter disorder your comeuppance
Mary Queen of Scots no tough Liz will obey
If you keep pulling that long war-weary face
What must I do or say your fears to allay
The fault lies squarely on Henry the VIII's mace
Even Papal Borgias did male heirs coolly lay
Yet you keep pulling that long staunch face
Again and again for you Excommunication I delay
You want both : eat cake while pulling a long face
Even Luther would think twice such customs waylay
So if you must pull a long navel face
Build yourself a Wall right round : call it Isles of May
Expel your Blacks and Asians born with jus soli grace
Turn Old Vic plays into Tower Terror bloody display
© T. Wignesan - Paris, January 17, 2019
Categories:
waylay, color, conflict, confusion, england,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue