Best Wend Poems
At long day’s end, our thoughts may stray
to where we long to wend our way-
a peaceful place where we dismiss
all things in life that are amiss,
and none are wont to cause dismay.
Our footsteps hasten us to this:
the warmth of hearth, the welcome kiss.
For those less fortunate I pray
a home sweet home they'll find one day.
Twas darkness upon the quietly residing heath...
And deathly was the sullen red sandstone tower...
Standing gloomily inside the masons dry-stone walls
Amidst toppling granite slabs and the faded, wilting flower.
Solemn was the chime of the hollow, mournful bell
When tolling out on midnights grimly sombre hour;
And thinly the swirling, unearthly mist
Did so wend abouts her silent, melancholic bower.
Where from a fronded yew of venerable years,
Besides ancient trunks of ivy-entwined gnarly oak,
A chilling screech from a sudden ghostly apparition...
Summoning upon waking resident souls - did thus invoke!
For pale his form in soft white downy flight...
But none paler than that of me...
As across from the stream, held by an unblinking stare -
My shaky fears are transfixed so unnervingly!
Oh wise old feathered sage of long owl-lived age,
Unctuous incumbent of learned perch within black night,
Allow this the moment to calm my pounding heart...
And catch upon my fleeing thoughts - after such a wicked fright!!
Sunlit days I spent on the moor
Sweet Summer heather scents allure
Bathing in waves on Dublin's shore
Aye, Irish lore Aye, Irish lore
Crumbling castles on exhibit
Pricey ticket; warm day visit
Guinness stout without a limit
Tastes exquisite Tastes exquisite
Stung by wild bees in clover leaves
Winded, needed the help of sheaves
Love for Ireland my heart now weaves
And soon it grieves And soon it grieves
Time has come for vacation's end
And Summer's days with Autumn's blend
When I close my eyes and pretend
In dreams I wend In dreams I wend
You asked me for a dance one night, ’twas late one New Year’s Eve,
and as I held you in my arms, your shape did wend and weave;
a sudden kiss as midnight struck (I thought it make believe) -
for stars and kismet ruled with zeal our lives would interleave.
I give to you the morning sun to dance within your smile
a flower wild amongst the stones upon a rocky isle
with hidden paths in ancient woods where we can walk awhile.
You lead me by the hand through nights into the waking days,
through swinging gates in mirrored walls and through the midnight haze,
through castles built in sandbox realms in children’s yesterdays.
I give to you a ragged doll, a puppet on a string,
a ride upon a rocking horse, a swallow on the wing,
a ribbon trailing from your hair, a red or scarlet thing.
You whisk me from a valley deep wherein a black wind blows,
and tracks upon the empty trails are hidden by the snows,
to share with me your secret thoughts and steal away my woes.
I give to you a silver flute, a whistle on a chain,
a drummer boy with dancing feet, a sugar candy cane,
a window flushed with foolish tears mid pitter-patter rain.
You lead me from entangled streets inside a circus town,
subduing smoky memories that haunt this wistful clown
by quelling plaintive melodies and sorrows that they sound.
I give to you a penny plain to cast upon a dream,
a streaking star inside the sky, a bridge across a stream,
a teddy bear with tattered ears and berries dipped in cream.
You show me how a rainbow lightens distant liquid lands,
where dew drops paint the purple leaves deserted on the sands
on roads of simple wonderment within your slender hands.
I give to you in winter’s chill my ragged scarf of thread,
a dripping ball of candle wax on fire blazing red,
and offer you this smitten rhymer’s loving arms in bed.
You spin me tales of laughter, yes, of laughter on a spree,
of laughter restless in the sky, of laughter running free,
of laughter dancing, skipping wildly far beyond the sea.
I give to you these careless words, arrayed in broken lines,
adorned, my love, with tempest winds and teardrop salty brine,
in cups of youthful passion steeped in desolation wine,
and promise I’m forever yours... if only you’ll be mine.
Ave-Maria hymns lift you in flight
to Heaven’s gate apt angel does ascend
and follows lantern's light predawn of night
on glide of song and blessings she does wend.
On April morn in skies of blue as you
besprinkle crystals from your seraph’s wings,
by mourning noontime snowfall does ensue;
a smoothing swaddle soothing harmed heart-strings.
In diamond-dusted frosted filigree
so sparkles soulful kisses you bestow
for scintillant reflective reverie
your glistened gift you send in silvern snow.
Beloved mother, sainted entity
you hush my cries with snow’s serenity.
hanging in the air
humidity’s heaviness . . .
the river’s slow crawl
On the Mississippi lies the beautiful little city where I once lived. How many times I trudged up inclined streets; or leaning forward, red-faced and panting, pressed up slopes with all my might, feet on pedals of my purple Sting-ray bike, urging myself not to dismount prior to reaching glorious level ground! The damp beneath my clothing in those days was a given. Simply stopped to rest. . . sipping pop underneath a tree, I would often feel rivulets of sweat that trickled down beneath my underarms, a surfeit which caused circle stains to appear beneath the arms of short-sleeved shirts or on Sundays, beneath the flowered dresses that I wore to church. However, despite the heat’s discomfort, it was summer, after all!
counting down the days
until the school bell’s last ring -
a fling with summer
Released from stifling classrooms for vacation, I eagerly embraced the sun. . .and how I played! Kickball with the neighbors, visits to the city pool with my sisters and friends, bike rides to parks or into town, where I spent my allowance on records and treats, and hours racing eagerly through the pages of Nancy Drew books in front of a cooling fan - all these things consumed me.
It was in the month of August, and more than a decade of muggy summers later that I found myself transplanted in a desert. As if thrust into a giant pre-set oven with a noose about my neck, I learned firsthand the meaning of “slow roast.” Here, in the new and different place where I've now lived most of my adult life, the heat can leave one with a burn like acid watered down, a deep sensation lingering in skin long after sun has left the sky. Perspiration may just evaporate before it has a chance to wend its way along the body’s contours. Discomfort notwithstanding, there’s no pain. Acclimated to these summers now, I find that it is easier for me to breathe in August heat than it was the first time I’d ever encountered it. Released from stifling work, I go outside into the oven, pen in suntanned hand!
sunshine reflections
so many summers have passed
writing till twilight
Sheer lucid waves caress this oyster beach,
an aqua drowse viewed through a saffron lend,
and siren rip tides coax into a breach
as lambent grains of sand insouciant wend
the dunes of torpid eons through the bend
of hourglasses warped like new-blown glass.
In half-remembered mimes soft breezes send,
behind my eyelids as sweet lilts amass,
the plucking of a lyre string as high seagulls pass.
4/6/18
So very often I have come across
Bewildered hedgehogs running at a loss
On which direction best to wend their way
Through the dense traffic, much to their dismay.
Or heard the tweeting of a baby bird
Sprawled in discomfort, hungry, maybe hurt
Beneath the branches where its siblings rest
Inside the comfort of their cosy nest.
I’ve been alerted to the feeble cries
Of a poor kitten which I localize
Trapped by its collar to a prickly hedge,
Stuck in a bundle on a narrow ledge.
My heart is fragile, feels for those in need
These helpless creatures I would surely heed.
For the same reason I could not be blind
To people’s problems – willing to be kind.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"A Little Kindness Never Hurts"
A contest hosted by Brenda Chiri
Placed 1st
© 7th December 2018
“Fear not the Grim Reaper. Death is an angel that accompanies good people to their home of everlasting joy.” by author
Death is not a spectre that wields a scythe.
The minute we’re born, we wend our way to it.
Neither is our Heavenly Creator but a myth.
Even if you breathe your last mortal breath,
a home like no other waits beyond the veil.
If life seems so hard that you want to scream,
there is no need against God to rail.
Life is but an eye blink in His grand scheme.
If you are kind and faithful, blessed in death you’ll be.
Joy, light, and love will be yours eternally.
I can't believeth all the things I seeth:
the streets with such strange vehicles which wend
their way so apace liketh those gents fleeth
as metal lions. Nev'r has't i penn'd
a sonnet on such vehicles and highways.
Nev'r has't i hath felt so unbelieving.
I might not but tryeth to traveleth all byways.
Above me in the sky, huge birds art leaving.
Of metal too art those gents, which art of charm.
Oh, mine own, the females showeth their flesh,
and how the men art causes me alarm.
And lo, the air! How can the folks refresh?
Tall buildings, so few farms, and such big towns.
So crazy art the folks h're and their sounds!
Jan. 21, 2023 for Anoucheka Gangabissoon's Shakespeare in 2023 Contest
Translated into Shakespearean English
using English to Shakespearean Translator - LingoJam
(I can't be sure that it's exactly right, but I am hoping this is how they actually talked in those times. To understand my poem better, you can go to Lingojam and just reverse the process translating Shakespearean English back into Modern English!)
Beneath the yawning, azure skies of Earth,
We left our seed to wend the Sea of Suns,
And prove the binding mettle of our worth,
Beyond the sullied world we'd left undone.
Across the Great Expanse we bounded, free
To stretch the limits of our brains and bones
Though sailing 'cross that ancient, starlit sea
We heard the gods of ages yawp and moan.
We plunged an aching void of endless night,
Through spinning rainbow nebulae of death,
To wondrous planets, multi-hued and bright,
But none with Terra's sweet, enchanting breath.
Ten thousand worlds of mystery, we found
Grand vistas, picturesque, for us to roam,
Yet in the end, we turned our trek around,
Still yearning for those colors of our home.
To wade again, the meadows of our birth ...
Beneath the yawning, azure skies of Earth.
In my foolish young adult years,
three good men came along,
but their eyes brimmed with tears.
God must of sent them,
offering me love's redemption.
Not realizing they were gifts to me,
like mystic trains sent away to
wend on another journey.
The summer moon's love bathes me
in her eternal silvered glow,
upon my bed dreaming of happiness
I let go.
I do long for youth again,
to say I'm sorry for wounding them.
Was I rejecting love or myself,
placing their hearts on a shelf.
Forgive me, please,
as I age with unease.
Three good men with souls of gold,
I hope with wives who cherish them
as they grow old. ~
ado the realms that I have plunged with phrase
they have no shape - no bound'ries or expanse
some wend in heaven's dreams or hell's malaise
thoughts sown a demon's kiss or angel's dance ...
such myst'ries there are born from matter, gray
those maelstroms wend the mind's complexities
what seems dark and chaotic through its sway
works fierce to find the beauty each eye sees ...
while wordsmiths tend to stretch upon the rack
of flow'ry phrase, for sake of bloom and breaths
there's far more dire concern with candor's lack
than all the horror wrought ten thousand deaths ...
please don't misunderstand these words of mine
true eloquence is birthed through grain OR chaff
with thoughts that bare the soul in grand design
and swell dear hearts that break on their behalf ...
pray, deign to think me common, though I was
dear love's sweet fool, a million times too much
and though I'd trade my loves for verse's cause
the dearest poem can't trump ... a woman's touch.
I live the life of a vagabond poet
now approaching my winter years.
A time for reflection
through introspection
of my true heart's desires.
A time when challenges
maraud my mind's coherency
through listless lamentations
of evasive lexicon...slipping away.
Do I mourn now or deny?
Questions that I ask myself
in solitude of quiet moments
as I accept that change is inevitable
and necessary to evolve.
I vaticinate virtues of future endeavors
that may bring comfort to family
after my spirit leaves this earthly body.
Winsome words wend their way
through cobwebs veiling twilight times.
8-13-18
How lovely to spend time
On a hillock overlooking the bay!
The ruddy sun just warms enough,
So I’ll enjoy my perfect day.
The sea is not perfectly calm.
Waves roll towards the beach,
What are they whispering to the sand?
What thoughts I wish I could reach?
There on the other side of the lake shore,
I spy a fascinating pristine vale
White beeches cover most of the land,
Except for a cottage that stands in the dale.
It is the place I want to go
So I take a leisurely walk
Ignoring the restless harbour bars
Avoiding friends who would want to talk.
The air is fresh in the awesome vale,
I watch a hawk attack a sparrow,
But my mind is on the cottage,
As I wend my way though it is narrow.
She must have sensed I was so near,
As she comes out and there we kiss.
I hear the dulcet sounds of mellow tunes
Euphoria reaches its peak, my mind in a mist.
Inside the cottage lavender perfumed,
She brings me the delicacy of an ambrosial repast.
Satiated we rest on a soft sofa
My dearest love reaches its peak at last.