Long Waylaid Poems
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My Lord the end is near, gone within have I to thee…..
multitudes of bright, lemon drop, sweet tarts pave our way.
Choosing now to remain, linger, going deep with in the ocean free.
Forms incorporeal above me rise to celestial sea.
The earth bathes now in rarest form portrayed.
My Lord the end is near, gone within have I to thee…..
While Hosanna’s fade from still whole memory
with outstretching hand a mate for me waylaid.
Multitudes of bright, lemon drop, sweet hearts pave our way
Alpha and omega will we be, and from all sin have we been freed.
For we seek the harder path the joy delayed.
My Lord the end is near, gone within have I to thee…..
Yet, He abandons we, “NO He does NOT!” a different fate have we.
And, with golden kisses each soul drops as they pray.
Multitudes of bright, lemon drop, sweet hearts pave our way.
The larger scheme of dark and light replays with joyous glee.
Deep with our Lord, His Love He does display.
My Lord the end is near, gone within have I to thee…..
Multitudes of bright, lemon drop, sweet hearts pave my way.
There is no dream
I haven't dreamt
throughout my life every theme
found a moment to be spent.
Just a dreamer they always said
looked away in their dismay
believing only foolish dreams in my head
but still each found a place each day,
A scientist, teacher, writer, daughter, sister, friend
first to go to college
waylaid by reality now and again
but succeeded in accumulating knowledge.
Retired now, ready to relax and recall decades of living
each achieved in the years now passed
and the images of wonder find thanksgiving
in the heart of every soul in which the dreams are cast.
for Silent One's contest
I dreamed a dream
2/16/19
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
The final frontier?
So much to take in
clutter and congestion
upon this revolving earth
and yet
so little left of green forests,
settled in by buildings and humanity
ramparts on the left
bastions, bridges, barricades
highways on the right
with little remaining in between.
Spaces in the middle
along the edges
down the valleys
across the fields
there from up on the mountains
stretching and tugging at time
exonerating a moment of creation
securing futures unseen
living the dream of being
waylaid by man and history and change.
Space opens
closes off the planets
shuts out the stars
drifts off into the distance
where meteors and asteroids race
to escape the boundaries
to elongate the outer margins
to expand the realms of reality
to endure
beyond the hand of man.
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
Domestic chargé d'affaires
became mine bailiwick
dint of the missus being
disinclined and less quick
budgeting, hence I inadvertently
accepted lickity split,
subsequent obligation did
smoothly clack and click,
which minimized conflict
whereby we shared equal intrinsic
reciprocity complicity, culpability
then at playtime, thee enigmatic
one whipped out adult toys
stashed in the attic.
Altercations impossible to avoid,
'specially when unemployed
(think Rob zombie humanoid)
additionally, I lacked emotionally unalloyed
communication cues, nearly destroyed
romance, cuz only recourse re: primal
non verbal, viz Braille
while disguised as android
amorousness I expressly enjoyed
satisfactorily papa bear
groaning courtesy steroid
launching petsmart aery mission
poised to strike no
matter mainly to void
i.e. unpacking heat prohibited,
one tony peppy trooper deployed,
but unexpectedly waylaid
understandably yours truly annoyed
unsheathed hot pistol manually toyed.
Admission, confession, decision firmly laid
down, I oft times insisted felt test ease made
purposeless seething hormonal secretion
triggered fountainhead sprayed
activated provocation upbraid
ding the then live in girlfriend
French kissing parlez vous
pledged troth plus
serving as milkmaid.
(Dedication: For Kayode)
To create anew
Stop thinking
Just feel the flow
Answers come
If you but seek
A certain awareness
The answer awaits you
Seek to know stillness
Find the right question
Words sound noisy
To transcend turmoil
Silence overcomes
Go beyond language
Do not be waylaid
Thought distracts flow
Let go of thought
Enter no-mind
Here peace is found
Epitaph:
Unshackle vain patterns
True form is formless
Words can deceive
Half-truths corrupt
Only deep silence creates
Silence is the door
Stillness the pathway
Awaken to awareness
Seek silence
Enter stillness
Discover true peace
Love abides
Stillness echoes
Eternity fills
Leon Enriquez
23 Feb 2014
Singapore
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]
While sidestepping impediments,
Achilles heel stricken with paralyzing zap
chronically inducing captain klutz
to bemoan and yap,
i.e. (think) booby trap
strategically laid down by the missus -
necessitating yours truly
to patschke with marauder map
in an to circumvent and handicap
becoming lame and crippled for life
essentially rendering me totally tubular
pathetic non-ambulatory chap.
Aforesaid dangerous tripping hazard,
the spouse I do calmly berate
causing me being waylaid
for very important date
and/or additionally hurrying
to forestall bowel movement,
viz urgent incommodious fate
mine impromptu tanglefoot (feet) dance step
doth ineluctably foment hate.
Ready to lash out courtesy sanity claws
meanwhile thee wife burst out with guffaws
me cursing Sir Isaac Newton's gravitational laws
one infuriated husband
our marital covenant, he swiftly redraws
subsequently divorce sputters
thru clenched jaws
underscoring how feigned wedded bliss
(actually shotgun marriage)
replete with many flaws
e'er since chance encounter
regarding future maternal cause
deux daughters we begat
packed their bags at tender age,
and left home without pause.
All these approximate
two score plus oddly even years
avoiding precarious hazardous risks wears
heavily reinforced steel tipped
crampon tricked out boots,
which rugged footwear eventually tears,
though they outlasted lifetime
predicted on advertisements and follow up
customer satisfaction questionnaires
as satisfied survivor traversing
harrowing riddled landscapes,
I feel adequately trained to join
most hardy (doubting thomas) mountaineers,
especially those with surname Reznick
livingsocial, snapchatting, and twittering in Switzerland
possibly linkedin with Harris heirs
this wordsmith conclusively blares.
I non-jokingly attest -
above recounted spectacle no humorous avail,
thereby true love moost prevail
when wife leaves mayhem and bedlam
nothing boot trail of destruction without fail
excellent preparation if/when
purblind poetic papa needs to learn Braille.
From within the frost-frozen, bare-boarded, shed
within its loosely hung zee-braced door agape
the spring light peeked.
Warming the woodsheds King’s pine planks
toasting the ten penny nails
popping the planks to a toe-stubbing height.
Door slamming dashes through the obstacle course of cord,
tinder, rake and hoe;
to the semi attached outhouse.
Draws half down,
butt bitten by March’s wind;
the two holer waits, lye bucket at the base.
Curled, yellow-brown, newspaper pages from 1890,
the shade of Uncle George’s pipe stained teeth, wiggle in the wind;
as do I when with a holler as
breeze to bottom freeze dries.
A half flashed mad dash to the kitchen door
is halted; awestruck at the gapping door to the kitchen garden.
Raspberry-red, tit tipped rhubarb buds and stalks,
warmed by the sheltered spring sun;
set my mouth to drool.
A waylaid girl child in transit.