Best Wild Oats Poems
The white charger's belly is bloated with hay
The helmet helm's rusted quite shut
The tack room door hinges are tearing away
The leather's un oiled and dry
The lance is still good
It is bracing the fence
but I traded the sword for a pen
I am presently seeking a page
So if you're still waiting
and anticipating
A Lochinvar ending of sorts
I shall purchase wild oats for the horse
I recall how to sow them of course
With hardly a shred of remorse
Poet's minds have abstract thoughts
emerging in waves from their hearts.
Words are unraveled and untangled,
where once their meaning was mangled.
All too often, as many readers would,
they're found baffling; misunderstood.
But oh how genuinely lucid and austere
when read aloud, to the discerning ear,
are the sentiments written by a poet's pen,
distinctly implicit enough to comprehend.
Perhaps, based on his/her life's anecdotes,
but with imagery a poet sows wild oats.
She met him in the interim,
that space between endings and beginnings;
a summer fling;
a sowing of her not so wild oats
was all that it was meant to be.
But he was so much more.
She found herself languishing
pool side on his patio
as long June afternoons
dripped like molasses into nights.
Sometime in July,
her illusion that she’d had of independence
burst like pyrotechnics in the sky.
And oh, those nights they imbibed!
Her nights with him ran
like the blood-red wine
in the goblets
cupped
by the trembling hands of two inebriates.
But the stems of those goblets
slipped quickly from their fingers,
and love’s elixir
spilled much too quickly
into tomorrow.
Along with the dry protracted days,
she - like desert grasses -
withered as she waited.
always thirsting for the nights!
But by the time August had arrived,
she also had come to realize that,
like the yellowed grasses,
she needed more than passion at dusk.
The nights, in fact,
had brought her
no less scorching than the sun.
And what she’d thought
was more than she could want
became much less
than he could ever give.
Some essential thing was lacking,
some need deep inside her
not being fulfilled.
In those long afternoons
as she'd waited for him,
she'd come to realize what was missing.
By September - back in school -
she knew her ardor for him
had barely waned,
yet still. . .
she knew what she had to do.
And so, she looked to autumn's advent
for October's cooling winds
to sweep away
the remnants
of ashes in her soul.
2/26/2015
For Laura Loo's Free Verse on Sadness (again) Poetry Contest
"Crazy is as Crazy does"
Crazy is as Crazy does
poets and musicians
come undonne
fresh plots
till the soiled, their artful
passion twists
a je ne sais quoi
madness in the measure
of their melodies -
there "It" sits within, an articulate
climbing ivy de Sadeness, when
silence comes to this
words paint a wall
like flowers blooming
tale feathers flying
angels and their demons
swooning,
dance enthralled
across white territory
open spaces
close tired doors
the dead, fuelled and reborn
surrender red flags
in bed with the
romance
of new frontiers
where ancient lovers call
Crazy is as Crazy does
poets and musicians
all cultivated mercenaries
eventually
come undonne
hungry monsters
to speak and sing
of war and love
times past
long ago, and history
yet to come
words worn like
monks wear habits
hearts are verily
strummed warm
then rolled over raw
seeds and wild oats sown
thoughts like manna
placed in others' minds
and on their tongues
to speak and dance
of never-nevers
and cloudy
kingdom comes
impress to all,
heed this, they espouse
it's all quite quite
quintessential
perfectly prophétique,
murdering ALL their
little darlings
fresh plots
till the soiled, their artful
passion twists
Crazy is as Crazy does
the loons all hum and nod
when
silence comes to this
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
You said “I do”
I said it too,
That amazingly magical day,
On a Hawaiian Plateau.
Now that nineteen have come to pass,
I have no more wild oats to sow,
You will be the last lover,
I will ever know.
Dear, you keep telling me that you’re too old,
giving me reasons we should be apart.
But all these things I’ve already been told!
Please, darling, hear me now with your heart.
You say they’ll gossip about me and you.
Just let them! I’m young, but I’ve known
so many women, but not one can do
the magic YOU do. My wild oats are sown!
Never more will I be looking around.
You fuss over wrinkles, but all I see
is our connection so sweet and profound.
Always beside me, my angel you’ll be.
Age doesn’t matter when you’re in love, so
say yes to “us” and let’s give it a go!
Dec. 15, 2017 for
Julie Leigh Rodeheaver's "Age Doesn't Matter When You're in Love" Contest
spring joy
day breaks in coral
dawn and white rose share secrets ~
dewdrops sprinkle glitz
fog spills over hills
winds of change swirl wispy clouds ~
doves coo limericks
bountiful spring rains
wild oats take over garden ~
now the need to weed
warm weather returns
rainstorms take a vacation ~
spring wears thick sunscreen
droplets of glitter
splash across meadows ~
tartans of flowers
rich earth births poppies
orange hues trickle to earth ~
champagne wildflowers
5-8-23
I believe we are lost
We were carried away
Rebels without cause
In our own unique ways
We took different roads
But both ended here
Sewing wild oats
Til our paths disappeared
The surroundings are strange
In this current cul-de-sac
Years of switching lanes
Somehow brought us right back
All the way back home
But we cannot get inside
The destination, all along
Was the beginning of our ride
But now it’s upside down
Inside out and jumbled up
Like robots, we walk around
And pretend to feel enough
Enough passion and intensity
Enough misery and joy
And we’re sure to feel them properly
While making, little noise
We know we don’t belong
Well aware that something’s wrong
But home, as we remember
Will, forever, be long gone
"If there's a bustle in your hedgerow,
Don't be alarmed now.
It's just a Spring clean for the May queen.
Yes there are two paths you can go by,
But in the long run,
There's still time to change the road your on.
And it makes me wonder."
Sometimes people make mistakes
And try some drugs for Heaven's sake.
This fad doesn't make you bad,,,
Friends and family might be sad.
Kids need time to sow wild oats
Without our hands around their throats.
Eventually they'll find their way.
Doesn't matter what we say!
They'll grow up and pay their way,
Looking back on that one day
When they made their final choice,
Decided on their future voice.
Wonder what the kid will be?
You'll have to wait a while to see!
"Stairway to Heaven"
Led Zeppelin
Written by Page and Plant
Ben raised up a dern disappointment, Daddy, well, he wanted a boy.
Wasn’t nothing under the bleeding red sun Ma could do but keep on a tryin’
Ya’siree, she was one branded filly and dern iffin that filly didn’t birth a maverick.
Daddy, well he had him some hard times a com’n
and he didn’t ev’n try to hide his fallen face when Sis was born.
that un, well, she was maverick number two!
Daddy was the devil may care sort and him and his seed strayed far afield,
sowing his wild oats, praying for an heir, he himself was one
‘slick hairy dick’ so to speak [that’s cowboy lingo for a maverick himself]
and you know what they say, “The cow plop don’t fall far from its ****”
He kept on pokin’ Ma ‘till he got that boy, all nine caterwauling pounds!
Dynasty founded, one hell of a shindig was thrown, as luck would have it,
Dad strayed, but not before he taught his gal’s not to take guff from any man!
Out on the range, Dad rounded up a couple more Betty’s
“Yehaw, did that brand sizzle” got his self a couple more bucko’s
for the dynasty and another sweet filly, all of them mavericks to the core.
Funny thing is old Dad’s gal’s got more balls then most men.
So, I guess in the end [wink] he taught us well!
*This is a Cowboy Poem, it is a maverick to it's form because
Cowboy poetry is rhymed, metered verse written by someone who has lived a significant portion of his or her life in Western North American cattle culture. The verse reflects an intimate knowledge of that way of life, and the community.
[Never lived in the West, don't like anything that looks at me with one eye!
"...names have been changed to protect the innocent."
P.S. I'm the maverick!
aimless and blind
I wasted my youth
left friendship behind
in search of the truth
no wiser but sadder
ah,but that never mattered
'cause then I met you
I did my hitch
sowed my wild oats
I burned all my bridges
and sunk all my boats
while the rats had all scattered
ah,but none of that mattered
'cause then I met you
yeah when I met you
you pulled me through
you gave me a clue
when I so didn't know what to do
blitzed on the booze
fresh out of hope
I had nothing to lose
at the end of my rope
I was mad as a hatter
the fact of the matter-
but then I met you
yeah then I met you
and then I met you!
"Wild Oats, Steel Cut"
Words like food
can become an addiction
it’s in the swallowing
that the story
consumed like
some feast
laid out at the
Hatters Table
poured into
kidney pans
returns
steel cut
in our warm
memories
glitching all over
our wild oats
while we
are stitched up
being fed porridge
and honey
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Limerick: Once an upset farmer in Xin Jia Po
Once an upset farmer in Xin Jia Po*
Built farms upwards in tiers: O! Vertigo!
Produce diminishing
UFOs pilfering
Now he sows wild oats in Infierno!
• Chinese for Singapore
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Unquotable quotes – IX
You cannot have your cake and eat it, but you can have
your meat and beat it.
Sow your wild oats on a sow and your tame oats on a
milch cow, and reap what you sow.
See not evil, speak not evil but fiddle evil.
Silence is olden.
Blood is thicker than 70% of the body.
If you eat your fill, who will foot the bill ?
Since l’habille ne fait pas le moine, what if the monk
goes about in his birthday suit ?
Money makes Bunnies look funny.
When a white-collared worker marries a blue-collared
worker, they invariably produce a red-collared
sucker.
The only impermanent resident is the President.
It is only raining cats, not dogs.
We are just kissing cousins in the parloir but not in the
boudoir.
Wake not a man asleep and tell him his wife has given
him the slip.
Snakes and Ladders : To skid and fall is a blessing compared to climbing a ladder and falling from a height and being hit on the head by the falling ladder while the snake is waiting and hissing…
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
The barnacle is not what you may think
No mollusc this, no limpet dull and drab
It's lack of adult movement hides the link
To cousins like the lobster and the crab.
Hermaphrodite, a male and female phase
Alternate, and thus its offspring make
It's lifecycle is one which should amaze
What follows are the forms that it will take.
Nauplius. Expelled and floating free
Small and mobile, soft shell on its back
It swims with other plankton in the sea
Bottom of the food chain: just a snack.
Cyprid. In this stage it does not feed
It only searches with a sole intent
To find the roost and friends that it will need
Where it can stick itself down with cement.
So here we are: the adult that we know
Settled down and to its choice home bound
Mature it still has those wild oats to sow
Priapically, it still can get around.