Wanly Poems | Examples

When Summer is Gone

Ah, my birth month’s time is nigh.
September’s blue asters soon will bloom,
their scent lingering in the sighs
of melancholy breezes,
and still I will hear the whispering
of ephemeral late summer 
as she smiles wanly 
through clouds in azure skies.

I will watch sweet summer
wander off into 
vibrant violet sunsets
which will appear earlier and earlier
after the autumnal equinox arrives.

I bid farewell to Damsel Summer
once the trees have adorned themselves
in crimson, gold and persimmon.
Perhaps even lovelier than summer 
is Lady Autumn
as she paints the dusk
a fuchsia pink.

Home Thoughts From Abroad

The half moon shimmered wanly as she wrote
“Dearest, do you realize how much I miss you?
How long will your trip abroad take?
Here I am in empty rich, luxury mansion.
A hovel with you would have been better.
Or perhaps you do not love me anymore?”

Thus the letter arrived in my posh Rome hotel.
I could not help but let a lonely tear drop down
And smudge the words written there.
Why can’t I find the courage to write a full letter?
Only fragments have I written, not worth sending.

The show goes on and all around me were the so-called friends.
Yet I have none, absolutely none.  One day I’ll disappear, 
Leave Rome and go back to my home sweet home.

November Nights

Stardust smiling and bright beguiling
Rainclouds rebelling and sprinklings surprising
Misty mountains and full fountains
Darkening dreams and sentimental streams
Moonlight mourns and wanly warns
Faded feelings and dreadful dealings
November nights waltz into Winter





Alliterisen - 7 Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
October 30, 2021

Last Tear

Our family gathered to you attend,
The overcast day your bed rest did end.
Your smile was sunshine filling the room.
You asked of present and future blooms.
Your final hours were never about you,
But of things you would not see come true.
You implored me not to weep or look sad,
But offer whatever joy that I had.
You smiled wanly as your last breath fled.
A tear ran down your cheek, lonely.
I kissed away that lucid saline drop, slowly.
Your last tear throbs to each beat of my heart.
It will drop when through heaven’s gate I start.
No fugitive lost in a mopey reminisce,
You nurtured dreams of future blooms and bliss.

A Controlled Reply To a Skinhead's Brain

A Controlled Reply to a Skinhead's Brain

Just when I thought some real evolution
Of moral thinking
Just might be taking place these days,
I run across this Neo-Nazi piece of crap
Masquerading as a poem,
Shrieking wanly in an open, small-press 'zine.

This fool blames the ills of the world
On "World Jewry" - the old, rusted-out line
Of his Volk.
Ah, well - simple things for simple minds.

I'm glad I finally got past actively hating your kind;
Why give you fuel to feed your blindness?
Now you just excite my pity,
You wastes of skin, skinheads.

Sorry you ejected your brains,
Like seaslugs, who don't need 'em;
Sorry that you choose to live on the bile of your hate,
Sorry for your infantile pains,
And sorry that you can't appreciate

This free society
That lets you parade your ignorance
For all the world to see.

Throughout the Night Distressed, Unblessed By Sleep

Throughout the night distressed, unblessed by sleep, 
I turn and writhe and toss, and vainly watch
The seconds and the minutes slowly stretch
To hours; and long since done with counting sheep,
Despair of morning.  All alone I pitch
And sweat and wanly see the clock-hands sweep
Inexorably on. And so I keep
Unwilling vigil, condemned to spend such

Nights of restless exile. For I worry: 
They’ve sent you overseas, and now you fight
A foe implacable and alien…
Stars and moon speed overhead, and teary
Spells will increasingly become my plight,
While anxious waiting is my regimen.


This Petrarchan sonnet is a variant on the model -- some half-rhymes and a scheme of abbabaab cdecde

The Song

This is my song 
Come and sing along 
For it is a love song 

We all sing songs 
Tunes from all life’s walks 
Sing them all folks 

Some melodies ring badly 
Their stories finish wanly 
And their singers end sadly 

What song are you singing? 
What strings are you strumming? 
And what tune are you humming? 

For I have to share the sweetest song 
And you can sing along 
Only if Jesus is your song

Expression

ignoble head low
dark eyes glance up wanly 
feathers softly fall

A Momentary Lapse Re-Post

...a true story


Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...

standing apart, the other houses still intact 
with painted jalousies and window curtains. 
She must have fallen asleep, the cigarette 
still dangling from her arthritic fingers;
I never saw her without one. 

She told me of her life in Poland during the war, 
but not her suffering, she never spoke of that. 
She smiled wanly as she showed me old photos 
of family and friends taken on holiday when 
she was younger, long before the ravages of war. 

TV was her constant companion along with 
her nurse and her beloved Pekingese, 
always sitting on her bed. We'd talk for hours. 
She was always interested in my schoolwork, 
and why didn't I have a girlfriend? 

Now she lay in hospital small and silent; 
there was nothing I could do but hope and pray. 
When they drew the sheet up over her I felt an 
emptiness, but no tears came. Fourteen years old, 
my first death close up. When I got home to mom 
and dad, only then in their comforting embrace 
did I sob my heart out.

Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...

The Petal's Fall

Next to the road’s trough
The cosmos flowers bow
Down and curtsy
As if to royalty
As we pass by
Waving wanly as they die

The road is wrapped in misty shrouds
Trees hugged by earthbound clouds
Cosmos petals dripping tears
End of season, end of years

Before frost falls all glory lost
Browning leaves in crusted frost
Before they die a last hurrah
As courting bees made each a ma

And as things die down at last to rest
Seed in soil by God’s Word blessed
Waiting patiently, silently, sleepily
Until frosted mist warms oh so weepily

Announcing spring in early rays
Of shorter nights and longer days
To raise a head through soil so dead
To live again as God’s Word said

So we too grow and flower and die
But no need to wail and cry
As we too a seed becomes
Until our Lord on cloud crown comes

A Momentary Lapse

...a true story


Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...

standing apart, the other houses still intact 
with painted jalousies and window curtains. 
She must have fallen asleep, the cigarette 
still dangling from her arthritic fingers;
I never saw her without one. 

She told me of her life in Poland during the war, 
but not her suffering, she never spoke of that. 
She smiled wanly as she showed me old photos 
of family and friends taken on holiday when 
she was younger, long before the ravages of war. 

TV was her constant companion along with 
her nurse and her beloved Pekingese, 
always sitting on her bed. We'd talk for hours. 
She was always interested in my schoolwork, 
and why didn't I have a girlfriend? 

Now she lay in hospital small and silent; 
there was nothing I could do but hope and pray. 
When they drew the sheet up over her I felt an 
emptiness, but no tears came. Fourteen years old, 
my first death close up. When I got home to mom 
and dad, only then in their comforting embrace 
did I sob my heart out.

Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...

A Momentary Lapse

...a true story


Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...

standing apart, the other houses still intact 
with painted jalousies and window curtains. 
She must have fallen asleep, the cigarette 
still dangling from her arthritic fingers;
I never saw her without one. 

She told me of her life in Poland during the war, 
but not her suffering, she never spoke of that. 
She smiled wanly as she showed me old photos 
of her family and friends taken on holiday when 
she was younger, long before the ravages of war. 

TV was her constant companion along with 
her nurse and her beloved Pekingese, 
always sitting on her bed. We'd talk for hours. 
She was always interested in my schoolwork, 
and why didn't I have a girlfriend? 

Now she lay in hospital small and silent; 
there was nothing I could do but hope and pray. 
When they drew the sheet up over her I felt an 
emptiness, but no tears came. Fourteen years old, 
my first death up close. When I got home to mum 
and dad, only then in their comforting embrace 
did I sob my heart out.

Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...

Cracked But Not Broken

When the morning light,squeaks through the vanes;
of wooden casements and windowpanes.

When eyes glued shut,from night time fears,
are opened wanly to mornings clear.

That’s when in the corners of my mind,
thoughts of you rush forth to find;

Soft smiles, open arms and a warm heart,
You know I’ve loved you from the start.

A Momentary Lapse

...a true story


Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...

standing apart, the other houses still intact 
with painted jalousies and window curtains. 
She must have fallen asleep, the cigarette 
still dangling from her arthritic fingers;
I never saw her without one. 

She told me of her life in Poland during the war, 
but not her suffering, she never spoke of that. 
She smiled wanly as she showed me old photos 
of her family and friends taken on holiday when 
she was younger, long before the ravages of war. 

TV was her constant companion along with 
her nurse and her beloved Pekingese, 
always sitting on her bed. We'd talk for hours. 
She was always interested in my schoolwork, 
and why didn't I have a girlfriend? 

Now she lay in hospital small and silent; 
there was nothing I could do but hope and pray. 
When they drew the sheet up over her I felt an 
emptiness, but no tears came. Fourteen years old, 
my first death up close. When I got home to mum 
and dad, only then in their comforting embrace 
did I sob my heart out.

Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...

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