Best Wilful Poems
a trip thru two spheres
what wilful shadows of realities
with a dead bursting into life
Wanton Willows weave athwart the weir
Wishing all the while wilful to wind
Their winsome wands that whelm and win
The restive writhing watery way
Meandering in moonlit mazy motion
Then moving on in misty morning mood
The river runs by reed and grassy mead
Where wily waders’ stalk in stealth concealed
The stream now slows tween sandy sides
With susurrating sound surround
As silvery strains speak of the sea
And flow transforms to estuary
Breakers brash now beat the brook
Unbinding bounds of broadening bay
And memories now melt of milder motion
The River to be merged with mighty ocean
For Sarah, who left the Plymouth Brethren, with love
The light is not a solemn thing, it shines
With merry glee and mirthful gentleness
Will not be held a hostage, in confines
Of darkened halls where little ones confess
The sins of fathers that they never chose
Nor be a slave to chapter, scripture, verse
Be boundaried, or fettered in its flows
It is the joy of blessing, not a curse
It isn’t how you said it was. You lied
I ran, and left your lies behind the door
And here I am, and oh, the light is wide
Mysterious, and infinite, and more
A wildly wilful, free, and feisty thing
I wear a ribbon in my hair, and sing
© Gail Foster 26th February 2017
A jump a skip and a jig perhaps
I shall steel myself and I will
Dance on her grave
Mystery no forgiveness as time has passed
But my promise made and I will
Dance on her grave
An oath made as a wilful young man
Older now yet still and I will
quietly
Dance on her grave
In the voyage of life when we set sail
Let patience allied with perseverance
Be the bacon light for us to avail
In the warm summer of exuberance
As in the wild, wobbling winter of gloom
When wilful wintry winds whirl us to doom;
When whooping waves waft the frame of our boat
Let's not give way to shadows of despair,
But hold on steadfast and keep on afloat;
When stormy gusts try our sails to lay bare
Let's brace ourselves with power of the will
And determination as a firm shield.
Let's not try to touch the sky at a stretch
As we may never meet the horizon,
Let's not try heaven to reach at a breath
As we may tumble in the ocean,
Let's move on step by step as the clock's chime,
Sail on steadily, a knot at a time.
Patience is a gift bestowed by the Lord
A balm that soothes the soreness of stress
A precious jewel seemly to afford,
And perseverance the key to success
The spirit that drives man to sail ahead,
The essence of efforts that are sacred.
When setting sail on an unknown voyage
It's fitting to have faith in the dIvine,
Who escorts our steps at every life's stage
Ever guides our path across space and time
With patience to earn the Lord's sublime grace
And with perseverance to win the race.
“With patience and perseverance
We can win the hardiest race.”- By author
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Patience and Perseverance
On the journey of life when we embark
Let patience allied with perseverance
Be the lighthouse, our path to lit with spark
And permeate our spirit with endurance;
When wilful whirling winds waft down our soul
Let us not yield to dark clouds of despair
But forge ahead steadfast towards our goal
Without a single shaggy seam of scare;
Let`s not try the hilltop at once to clinch
As we may tumble down a dizzy slope
But, move forward step by step, inch by inch
With patience and perseverance to cope;
With patience we earn the Lord`s divine grace,
With perseverance we win the tough race.
Eerie
Witches
Ugly
Creepy
Freaky
Sneaky
Floating
Chanting
Cackling
Laughing
Broom sticks
Flying
Moonlight
Passing
Shadows
Waving
Witchcraft
Praying
Evil
Lethal
Hexing
People
Wilful
Wanton
Values
Rotten
Cats and
Magic
Crazy
Manic
Fear and
Panic
Wicked
Antic
Spell cast
Spoken
Lotion
Potion
Hocus
Pocus
Witchy
Slogan
17.10.23
Oh fantastic furry feline
So silent and still in slumber
White whiskers awaiting to wake
From dreams of docile dormice.
Mysterious and mesmerising moggy
Boundless beauty befalls you
Perfect plush paws and cutting claws
Bright beautiful eyes bestowed.
Oh valiant velvet cloaked vagabond
A spirit so wild and wilful
My love lies languishing in your heart
Come closer to comfort my soul.
In the blink of an eye and remorse far away
Your wavering heart blistered away my loving years
Your verbal pleasantries seem to mock
Your artful facade with a serpentine sting
In the beatific moments your need was me
We spent lucid loving hours spent at comfortable ease
New beginnings became easy with me to shield
You climbed my inherited ladders in splendid guise
I spruced the hearth and kept it warm with crystalline cheer
Your eyes, I fear, I couldn't fathom as I tucked our babes to bed
Now you fumble with your deceitful heart to temper me
When unchartered hours were gambled away with a seductive lass
Trust exploded in my rose quartz heart
When I saw you two cooing by mere accident
Your pitched frequency of dilly dallying
No more resonates with my simplicity
Our winsome fairy tale has ended
And your wilful satiric tale has begun
The charisma of ethereal love is poised on
Drooling actions and not on banal promises
March 31, 2016
Cliche 4- Actions Speak Louder Than Words
Sponsor: Silent One
Ian, my grandson is quite a lively joy,
Though I admit, he's often a wilful boy,
Study for him is a bore
Homework ever his worst chore.
Football is the game always his eager ploy.
Watch him how fast he runs up and down the ground,
Shooting straight and strong and with fine goals astound.
Never tires running with speed,
But about learning to read?
Results come, will he be caught on the rebound?
The joke is that he is quite a clever boy,
Complicated PlayStation is his best toy,
Often quiet but hears all
Manages total recall,
His intelligence is the real McCoy.
Quail not at Death’s door if you wrought no wilful harm
Quail not at Death’s door if you wrought no wilful harm
Should turning back in vengeance be the Dead Man’s qualm
Though even as the end nears the comfort of proffered pardon
Will in no way replace the sacrifices to expunge the burden
Sure everyone wreaks harm by chance or through ignorance
During those moments when control depends on circumstance
The way the chips fall is not a matter for individual call
Is not that the way centillions of quarks knock into it all
Do the Dead turn back to set right their splintered houses
Or do the worlds keep spinning guided by original causes
Tell not the man whose wits desert him what’s really wrong
The punishment the Dead incur is a judgement well foregone
He who turns self-righteously around to avenge or to meddle
To set right the world’s injustices in the Manichean treadle
Might earn himself a life’s sentence to roam all over again
Dead people walking numb through friendless terrain
All they may be able to do is to warn you of a fiddle
Of some danger sapping your strength the key to a riddle
Even if friends and relatives who betrayed your confidence
Will cling to spurious justifications ever through repentance
Think not of the lives milling lost in the neck of your clouds
Is there no end to ramifications vilifications in livelihoods
Do the Dead take along with them the history of their lives
And in which distant sibling planet are they stored in archives
If only it were as easy as to look up and wish them all away
What good can this earth be with us all dead in it anyway
Bickering for pieces of molten land pieces of names in decay
Metals and rock on fire hurtling down minuscule Milky Way
What need has the Maker for such a vast and roving Empire
Even children give up playing with trains and coaches on fire
Do the Dead renew passports before entering galactic spaces
Or do they coddle up in comfort in inalienable birth-places
Wouldn’t our world be some thing else but for this baffling secret
The foregone fate of earth-born gods if it weren’t for this regret.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Unmeant meanings
Words keep watch
their eyes in the empty spaces
fingers feel their unformed faces
Can words mean what they were not meant for all by
theirnonselves
even if they come clothed in nonentity
cuneiforms hieroglyphics ideophonograms
strokes signs signals sounds shapes silences squiggles squares squirms suctions squirts scuds screams squelches screeches screams or sickening sobs
words sum up fix errant thoughts
speak for all
though in tongues without jousting knights
errancy will not lead to errantry
Only the blind conceive their shape form posture
the staid but rumbunctious music of stilled hieroglyphs
the pliability of ideograms caressed down rice paper
their squiggly strands
the self-effacing hand-and-foot maidens
of matronly phrases
some leaning awry
the calligrapher’s trembling hand
all all straining upright
the custodians of invested stock
foot-stools of pouting poets
the sum-total of coveted currencies
exchanged stock variables
Who would be hurt knifes himself
with meaningless words
who would laugh
breaks out into song
the sing-song stress and accent of vowels round and strong
learns wayward steadfastness
with his words
with words
with the word
with the world of wonder in
always willing and wilful words
April 23, 1997
From the privately-pub. coll. (re-worked 2016): longhand notes (a binding of poems), Paris: 1999, 115p.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Paler than the hills I walk
I hear the bleat of sheep long still
and see the thistles of the Saltire’s home,
yet wear the weave of no clan’s name
The red of my discordant neck carries
the match of a thousand morning skies.
When shepherds take warning and
storms make wilful sport
And those same maelstroms
that play a dirge upon my soul.
twist my limbs like the elasticated
stretch of an eviscerated gut
So, let me taste this air of
bitter sweet remembrances,
and at last set forth toward
that brightest of lights
SONG OF THE SPIRIT
Ridden on a bed
Barely able to moan
Can't move a finger
Or let out a groan
I sense some footsteps
Inching towards me
Must be the doc bless him
To relieve my agony
Lying on my sore back
For almost an eternity
Each muscle stiff
Crying for relief
Debilitated devastated
Wrapped up in grief
Yet, this spirit
Deep inside me
Just a speck
A tiny fleck
Wilful stubborn
Refuses to succumb
Irrepressible incandescent
Yearns for a joyous outcome
Listen carefully
Hear it cry
'Fear not adversity
Never say die'
Resubmitted for Julie Rodeheavers
Contest: I am a survivor
Date Aug 22 2017
This poem attempts to explore the spirit of the terminally ill patients many of them lying in a vegetative state and for whom passive euthanasia is advocated by a sizeable section of society as the only remedy.
SHOCKING!!!!!!!! WHAT? THAT?
Bad taste?
They know not what is at stake
They do as they please
Then later beg for forgiveness
A right sin
And a dismal business
Nothing is shocking anymore
To thump each other
They go to the extremes of bad taste
The exotic of the past
Is now the mundane of today
To push the boundaries of rascality
Is the new wanton game
Played by trouble makers galore
To shock is to liven up
What a rebellious few
Think is dreary and staid
But is the result of good taste?
Actions we take now do tell
A story to our future
What of our legacy?
Will our avant-garde seem
Nothing but a real shame?
Critics slam with hyperbolic feelings
Prolonging a naturally temporary phase
The rebellion against the norm
Is but a turbulent teenage phase
Desperation for fame
Pushes the tactless
To seek increasingly embarrassing ways
To force our senses to
Confront what is best left private
Books
Art
The stage
All are infiltrated by the listless crew
Who seem hell-bent on defacing decency
Nudity
Crassness
Debauchery
Bad talent
No longer have critics powerful enough to
Cauterize such abject mood swings
Of artiste who feel no shame
Extending the boundaries
Of moral inhibition is not new
Those that claim to be even more shocking
Know not the history of petty rebellion
They are just another transient few
Decency has lost its unsung heroes
Who slash canvasses
And cover up the detritus of artistic license
Those who oppose any act
That does make us think
Examine or
Analyse our existence in new ways
Are deemed too sensitive for modern life
They are accused of bleaching creativity
To be a rogue is best
To impose any limits seems
To rascals as wilful distress but
Trendsetters don’t often know best