Wanton Poems | Examples

A Vacant Mind

A Vacant Mind


                        Does not a vacant mind breed wanton thoughts
                            That may lead to wilful, wayward actions?

                             Can we let our precious life be a nought
                            And to be ever marked with dreary spots?

                            Can we let it be tied with teething knots
                              Or rather pull up our dull distraction?

                          Does not a vacant mind breed wanton thoughts
                             That may lead to wilful, wayward actions?

Wanton Whisperers

When wistful,
wanton whispers
are overheard, 
they cause 
emotional feelings
to fail.
The hearer becomes 
withdrawn, 
and the depression 
casts a grim, 
gloomy shroud
of melancholy, 
over the frail, 
impaled self esteem.

Malignant Clouds

Clouds loom drifting, passing by,
The west wind gently tempts them on
Though no one knows what cause them cry
And no one hears their pleading voice
As all their acid tears well dry.


Snowy white, in rank and file,
The south wind warmly glides them far;
Smiling wryly all the while
Natant high above the earth
Ambling on, mile after mile.


Alluring to the offhand glancer
The east wind briskly chafes them forth
Skittering like the showtime dancer
Yet hidden deep within their breast
A growing rude and covert cancer.


But nature's wrath will bid her toll
The north wind casts the clouds astray
Freezing, breezing, pole to pole,
The stricken, tainted, wisps will wane ~
Dare no one care to save their soul?


So now as time is dwindling low
As the ill winds clime their worst
The poisoned rains, in flooding flow,
Rape our land to end mankind ~
And still, the winds shall wanton blow.

Wanton Hug a Holy Kiss From Jesus

May the breath of God's progression saturate your soul?
His Holy kiss creates us
His arms and hands embrace us
Rest in Him be ever still in His will

4/30/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©

Abysmal Phillippa

Operating on egos, heavy trust excavator 
Temptress trampled tendons, smooth massuese
Promised loyalty, gushing hasty behaviour
Brought men false hope of frail soul's spruce


In her rancid blood, infused through bone
Methods to tease displayed glitter gleam genuine
Blinded sociable victims, feelings on loan
Passed true hearts to her raw to be grilled in pain


Phillippa's diction wrapped wholly in self progess
Dripping honey hands rubbed despondent 
Caused fragile faith to cluster beneath her caress
Pleased moans drown clandestine wanton 


Balmy endearment seeped from lascivious tongue
Money fled cheerfully from them as echoes
Sweet sway, her silky serenade, systematically sung
Stifled sage judges amidst ravenous shadows




                       2020
                6th December 
           - sickness caresser - 


  Written for Contest 'Faith Healer' 
                     Sponsor:
           Kai Michael Neumann

Wanton and Lost

The suddenness of desertion,
the emptiness of time

Abandoning each moment,
as clocks strike their chime

And wherego the hours,
once used and cast off

Are there auctions and markets
for each second that’s lost

And who’s to recount
the old wishes unprayed 

With days ever changing,
and voices relayed

The end a beginning,
the beginning an end

To drift in its circle
—time never respent 

(Dreamsleep: September, 2020)

Wanton Manners

Waiting by my van
last ride home
I do it for love

A Universal Nonet Palindrome Pure and Wanton and Free

"Dead leaves scatter aloft the breezes!"
"Love is pure and wanton and free!"  
"Time shared is never wasted!" 
"Time is "Open" fleeting!"
"Death follows us all!"
"God sings cries out!"
"Share this hope!" 
"Horde not!" 
"Love!" 
. 
"Love!" 
"Horde not!" 
"Share this hope!" 
"God sings cries out!" 
"Death follows us all!"  
"Time is "Open" fleeting!" 
"Time shared is never wasted!" 
"Love is pure and wanton and free!" 
"Dead leaves scatter aloft the breezes!"

A Wanton Barter

Everyone’s life is tragic,
but who calls out the score

The Jester or the Hangman,
the Undertaker sure

Everyone’s nights are haunted,
when sleeping with the Muse

Each dream a wanton barter
—your memories to lose

(Haverford Pennsylvania: May, 2020)

When Lies Run Deep

Between your truth and mine
Your needs and theirs
Embedded within wanton desires
Coated with your fears and mine
We forget compassion
Lo, we lose love
We get sucked into the chaos
The chaos, the helplessness

Between your truth and mine
I find a gulf of loneliness
A valley of lies that run deep!

Perspective

wanton moments secure the thrill of riding
waves of multiple convergence points
reality just ain’t what it used to be...when
there was light and then there was not...
attitude breathes her fiery breath of creation
planets birth, first blush of remembrance
existence happens to each, forfeiting strong
words and emotions embedded in subtleties
framing everything occurs when stoppage is
engaged as moments coalesce past their
reduction points...strength occurs when integrity
blindingly recognizes the disparity between
two or more objects attempting to become
something other than what is perceived
force engages the tempo aligning the fanned
rays of emergence.  Fire ignites the notion
that we are not all one rather part of the whole
perspectives confuse the mind of the holy
if one drop is that...isn’t it all?

Wanton

wanton
has disregard
as prime motivation
for destruction that belies need
and want

Wanton Wantings

You know what I want:
sweet love prompted lust
It's not fueled by greed
but cushioned in trust

A need to connect
Forget what's not right
It happens right here
when day enters night

It happens just when
you come to possess
All else disappears
with tender caress

A sphere of delight
brought on by your kiss
the ripples expand
and bear me to bliss

it happens just when
you thunder in me
sensors scintillate
you set this girl free

You know what I need
your smile tells me so
my eyes take a shine,
my body a glow

I'm yours, for your love
Seeps deep in my core
This rhyme testifies:
It's you I adore!

Eileen Manassian

The Epitaph of Mr Alex Wanton Wells

He was born Alex Wanton Wells -
A healer of the incurable and a remover of spells,
Died chasing his insatiable appetite for quails;
He’s not there, for he kicked the pails!

Wanton Living

The year is two thousand and fifteen.
I have trodden the earth for nearly three decades;
Living life the pompous style of a teen
Unaware of the seasoning throes of age.

It could be a mistake or just some tasty style,
Although either from the other I wont know
Till I’m overrun by age and I grow old and senile 
And perhaps rue my folly all the way to the grave.

Admit, I cherish the temporal highs of well-matured booze
And crave the ageless rubbing of delicate thighs;
Not anything of these two sinful natures would I ever refuse:
I leave not a sensuous thigh unrubbed, nor any brown bottle uncorked. 

I have not tamed a single appetite of youth,
And with all my cravings let loose on the world
I fear I might have mocked the way of truth,
And feasted on the forbidden fruits of this earth.

Regret is not part of brave-living folks
And thus will not change a turn as years roll,
Even if I was granted to rewind the clocks,
I still would live the same wanton style.

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